Retribution
by forensicsgirl
Summary: Love & Revenge: The 5th and Final Story. Sara is in California, hoping to secure her future with Grissom by facing her past. But another threat looms: one that seeks to destroy them both. Vengeance is never sated and it is looking for bloody retribution.
1. Prologue

**TITLE:** Retribution

**AUTHOR: **forensicsgirl

**RATING: **K (PG) at the moment - will probably rise to PG-13 later

**PAIRING:** GSR / N/G

**DISCLAIMER: **I've tried everything, but i still don't own CSI, these characters, or much of anything really... I'm just borrowing them, torturing them and putting them back in Mr Bruckheimer's toy box, bruised but (hopefully) not broken. No infringement intended.

**SUMMARY: **While Sara returns to her past so that she can move on with her future, Grissom tries to allow her the space she needs. But that becomes impossible when both their lives are put in peril. Love and hate collide as vengeance returns to their lives, seeking retribution. Sequel to **Infliction**.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I'd just like to take this opportunity to thank all those who stuck with me through the first four stories of this series. Special thanks to my wonderful beta, **wobbear.**_

* * *

_

_Sweet is revenge – especially to women._

Lord Byron (_Don Juan,_ 1819-24)

* * *

**PROLOGUE.**

Methodical, careful fingers worked on a pair of gloves and picked up a pen. Black ink trailed out over creamy white paper, gleaming and damp like blood. There was arrogance in the penmanship; a self confidence born of equal parts achievement and insanity. She had already won. It was time for the final act.

_Your life is mine. You are nothing now, except my victim. I will make you bleed. I will destroy your soul. I will make you beg before the end._

_It is time for Retribution. Vengeance will be mine…_

_

* * *

_

The early morning mist rolled over the bay as the sun began its majestic ascent in the sky. Sara cradled a mug of tea between her hands and thought of him.

It was wonderfully peaceful here, isolated and set apart from the hustle and bustle of San Francisco, just twenty miles away. It was a good place for her to be right now - a fitting place. She, like her small home town, felt isolated and set apart from everything else. She wrapped herself in the peace and quiet, relishing the change of pace after so many years of working non-stop. She had finally given herself the space she needed to think, to deal with everything she had avoided for so long.

But mostly -- she just missed him.

His last text message was still saved on her phone -- a technological hug whenever she needed it. And lately, she needed it at least once a day.

She had arrived in Tamales Bay two weeks ago and, since then, she had met with her mother several times. Each meeting had been difficult for Sara -- for both of them, in truth -- but she was relieved to find that it was, slowly, becoming easier.

There was so much to cover. Twenty-two missing years, all told. So much pain and damage to sift through, to repair and to let go of.

Letting go. It had always been difficult for her. She had found it near impossible to let go of certain cases at work -- ones that involved domestic abuse, or any sort of violence against women, really. Those cases would haunt her for weeks, months even, creeping up on her when she least expected it and closing around her throat like a fist, waking her up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

Now a new specter haunted her sleep. A specter that, in her vivid dreams, took over her life, annihilating everything she cared about -- every_one_ she cared about. Decimating her world until there was nothing left. Nothing except Sara, the victim, broken and sobbing in a dark place. Every night, she woke up retching, barely making it to the bathroom in time before her stomach contents left her body.

She had left Vegas to distance herself from Jill, from the events of the past few months. _Stupid_, she thought. _She should have known she'd only take it with her_. And, what was even worse, here she was without his soothing touch, the safety of his embrace.

Rolling her head to stretch out the kinks in her neck, she glanced across to the small travel alarm clock which sat on the bedside table of her room in the guest house. If he wasn't working a double, Grissom would be getting home right about now.

The temptation to call him was strong. Just to hear the sound of his voice. Just to reassure him that she missed him and would be home as soon as she could.

Again, she resisted. If she spoke to him, she didn't think she'd be able to stop herself from grabbing the next flight back to Vegas.

Shaking the notion out of her head, she reminded herself of why she was here. She had demons to face here in California before she could return to Vegas to face the ones she'd left there.

_Soon._ She told herself. She'd go home soon.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	2. Chapter One

_**Disclaimer - See Prologue**_

**Thanks to everyone who have read & reviewed so far. Extra special thanks to my beta, Wobbear, who is already firmly in the category of "what the heck did I do without you?"****

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**

**Chapter One**

His phone was ringing again.

It had been ringing a lot lately, or perhaps it was just that he was home a lot more to hear it.

Sometimes it was benign – an annoying telemarketer wanting to sell him something. Sometimes it was Catherine, calling to check in or ask where a particular case file was kept. Mostly it was Ecklie, calling every day to grovel. They all got to talk to his machine.

The one person he wanted to hear from never called.

He sighed as he leaned closer to his microscope, peering down the eye piece to view the sample he was working on. As Catherine's voice drifted over the air from his answer machine, he suppressed a wry laugh. Several years before, it had been Cath that had told him to lift his head up from his microscope.

Now his head was buried in it further than ever.

He scratched another note on the journal beside him and resumed his viewing.

It wasn't as though he had lost hope. He believed Sara when she told him she'd come back to him when she was ready. He carried her note with him constantly – a physical reminder of the pledge she'd made.

But it had been two weeks. Two weeks of no word – not a phone call, not a postcard. Nothing to tell him how or where she was. Nothing to tell him when she'd be back.

_God, he missed her_…

He lost track of time somewhere in the midst of his bugs and his thoughts. Next thing he knew, someone was rapping loudly on his front door. Wearily, he got up and stretched. He knew who it would be. He only got one visitor these days.

Catherine looked tired when he opened the door. Part of him felt guilty – his departure from the lab had left them two scientists short and placed the heavy responsibility of leadership squarely on Catherine's shoulders.

He greeted her with a nod and stepped back to let her in.

"Catherine. How are you?"

Her death glare answered the question better than she could articulate. "Ecklie keeps promising to move someone from days to grave, but so far he hasn't bothered," she replied. "I think he thinks that if he runs me into the ground, you'll change your mind and come back."

Grissom grunted in response.

"The boys miss you," she went on. "Nick and Warrick have taken over Greg's training between them. Course, we're so short handed that the kid's getting thrown into the deep end a lot. He just got his first decomp yesterday."

"How'd he do?" Grissom wanted to know.

A small smile crept through her annoyed expression. "He did really well. Even managed to hold onto his lunch."

Grissom felt a small surge of pride radiate through him.

"How's the book?"

Two weeks ago, she had stormed into his townhouse, demanding to know if he had completely lost his mind. _What was he doing quitting his job? He was a workaholic, for Christ sake! He'd go insane sitting around his house every day with nothing to do._

He'd told her of his plan – a book he'd been trying to work on for years and had to keep shelving due to his workload. He hadn't published an entire book in ten years – just papers in journals here and there. It was an achievable goal, something to occupy his time and his energy while…

He hadn't said "while he waited" but she knew that was what he meant.

"You can't put your life on hold, Gil," she had told him kindly, sorrow and regret in her tone. "I know you love her and god knows I hope she comes back too, but…"

He hadn't wanted to hear it then, and he still didn't.

"It's coming together," he replied with a shrug. "Early days."

He moved to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee.

"Not that I'm not glad to see you, Cath, but to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. He was always looking for the ulterior motive. As luck would have it, she had one this time.

"I wasn't sure if you would have heard the news yet," she began. "I thought I'd better come over and tell you in person - since you're still not answering your phone."

He shook his head, ignoring her jibe as he set two mugs on the countertop and reached for the sugar. "No, I haven't gotten today's paper yet. What's up?"

"The jury's come back on the Jill Davenport case."

* * *

The sun was warm on her back as she walked along the secluded beach. Sandals dangling from one hand, she relished the cool sand beneath her toes near the water's edge. Here, it was nearly impossible to believe that anything bad was happening in the rest of the world. There was no sound, save for the cries of the gulls and the waves lapping against the shore – a noisy silence, Sara had called it as a child. 

She had spent every possible moment on the beach back then. It was her solace, her safe haven from the violence and ugly words of home. She would walk for miles, or bring one of her many books and find a hidden spot in which to read. It was on this very beach she had discovered her passion for learning - devouring volume after volume of science texts, or reading literature for fun.

As she stooped to pick up an attractive shell, her cell phone rang, its shrill tone sounding unnatural here.

"Sidle," she announced after flipping it open. The person on the other end said nothing.

"Hello?" she tried again, before taking the phone away from her ear to check the screen. It gave no answer, merely announcing that a _private number_ was calling.

"Hello? Griss?" No answer. "Mom?"

_Click._

Whoever it was had hung up.

* * *

Gil Grissom had a lot of different silences. 

There were his thoughtful silences, when he was lost in contemplation over a case or an experiment. There were his crossword silences, when an atomic bomb could go off in the room and he still wouldn't hear it, being too caught up in whichever advanced level puzzle he was demolishing with ease. There were his "I don't want to talk about it" silences – usually reserved for his private life.

And then there were his silences born out of pure fury, when words would not suffice to express his anger and so he just didn't bother using them. These were few and far between – Grissom might become impatient, irritated or annoyed, but _fury_ was something Catherine had only witnessed from him once or twice in the long tenure of their friendship.

She watched him as his jaw bunched and his fists clenched, wanting to offer a word of support or comfort, but coming up dry. She let him fume for a while, sipping on her coffee and keeping her distance in case he started throwing things.

Finally he crossed the room and slumped down on the couch and she figured it was safe to speak again.

"Damned conspiracy theorists," she grumbled. "It only took two of them to buy the defense's claims that we rigged the evidence and _boom_ – hung jury. At least the DA is going to retry the case…"

He didn't react, his eyes fixed and glassy.

"We knew we were screwed when the judge ruled Jill's psychiatric record inadmissible. Without that and the accusations of her stalking Tom Haviland in California, the DA couldn't prove motive."

He looked like he might speak, but he didn't, so after a moment she went on.

"Her lawyer managed to convince the Judge to give her bail until the new trial. I guess _His Honor _has seen the bad press law enforcement is getting over this; he doesn't want the same treatment. But the condition of her bail is that she has to check in at PD twice a day, so at least that's something."

Again, she searched his face, looking for something. Relief. Resignation. Anything...

"The DA is pressing for a speedy retrial. He's also going to try and have the stalking charges admitted into evidence this time…"

"Catherine." He held up his hands – whether in surrender or in an effort to silence her, she couldn't tell.

He got up again and moved aimlessly around, finally ending up by the window.

Catherine was ready to give up and leave when he finally spoke again.

"Does Sara know?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. Unless she's reading the papers wherever she is. Do you want me to call her?"

He considered it for a moment.

"No," he finally replied. "I'll call her."

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	3. Chapter Two

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far - I really appreciate it and I'm happy that you're enjoying the story so far. 

Extra Special thanks to Wobbear for the beta.

**

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**

**Chapter Two**

Warrick rubbed his eyes and tried to refocus them. He was used to a lot of paperwork on the job, but lately it seemed to have tripled. Or, perhaps, he was just finding less and less time in which to do it, with the result that he ended up cramming like a high school student preparing for his mid-terms.

_Three more reports and then he'd take a break… Two more… One more page before the promised reward of coffee and maybe a donut…_

He finally finished and headed to the break room where, by the smell of things, Greg was already brewing the good stuff.

"Can you spare a cup of that?" he asked, suppressing a yawn.

Greg looked him over with a critical eye. "You look like you could use it, man."

Warrick nodded and poured himself a cup, strong and black. "I came in three hours early to catch up on paperwork."

"Fun."

Warrick was reaching for the newspaper when Nick entered the room, clearly dragging his tail.

"Man, Nicky," Warrick said, frowning at the newcomer. "You look worse than I do. Didn't you get any sleep?"

"Sleep? What's that?" The Texan yawned, heading straight for the coffee pot. Warrick shook his head, looking back down at the paper and missing the small smirk that had appeared on Greg's face.

Catherine was all business as she entered. "Nick. Where are you on that drive-by shooting?"

"I was able to match the tire marks and paint chips found at the scene to a 1992 Buick Regal. That corroborates the eyewitness descriptions of the vehicle. I'm going to run it through the database, see what I get."

She nodded. "Good. Warrick. You, me and Greg are going to prison."

"Come again?" Warrick frowned.

"We've got a 419 at High Desert State Prison," she replied, handing him the call-out sheet. "Let's get going."

****

* * *

Grissom threw the phone back into its base, frustrated that for the fourth time he'd found Sara's cell switched off.

He shouldn't worry. She was in California, he told himself, out of harm's way. Jill didn't know where she was. She probably just didn't want to get distracted, and so she had her phone switched off. That was the logical explanation…

But lately, logic didn't come all that easily to him.

Picking up the phone again, he placed another call.

"_Brass."_

"Jim," he said. "It's Gil. Did Jill Davenport check in at the station tonight?"

Normally, Brass would tease him for his abruptness. But on this occasion he just frowned. "Yes, she did. She spoke to me personally. Why?"

"I, uh – I was just checking. I can't reach Sara…"

"And you were worried?"

Grissom swallowed, relief finally settling in. "Yeah."

"I'm sure she's fine –" Grissom noticed that Brass sounded distracted. "You know Sara. She can take care of herself. Look, I'm at a scene here, so I've gotta go…"

He hung up.

****

* * *

Brass pocketed his cell phone and tried to shake the uneasiness stirred by Grissom mentioning Jill Davenport. _It was a coincidence, pure and simple_, he told himself as he walked back into the crime scene and looked around.

It was just another jail cell, small, gray – not exactly the Ritz. And yet, there was evidence everywhere that its occupant was not your garden variety prisoner.

Brass couldn't be sure, but it seemed to him that the mattress was a lot thicker that the standard prison mattresses, and he was certain that prisons did not issue silk sheets to all their inmates. Plugged into the corner was a small fridge, not unlike the mini-bar of a hotel suite. An expensive-looking box of liqueur chocolates lay open on the table, beside a stack of letters. _Fan mail_, he observed, with no small measure of disgust.

_Money might not have bought his freedom, _Brass reflected, _but it certainly bought him a decent level of luxury behind bars._

David Phillips bent to examine the victim as Catherine, Warrick and Greg arrived in the doorway.

"Hey Jim," Catherine greeted him. "What have we got?"

"Either a pretty big coincidence or the possibility of something that I don't even want to think about."

At her clueless expression, Brass nodded towards the bed, where David was rolling the victim over. Catherine gaped when she recognized who it was.

"Our DB is Tom Haviland."

****

* * *

Grissom woke with a start. Jerking into a sitting position, one hand immediately shot up to the crick in his neck. His two-seater sofa was just not designed to be slept on.

The phone rang again, reminding him of what had woken him up. All thoughts of screening the call went right out the window as he raced to answer it.

"Hello?"

Silence.

The call had not disconnected – he could sense someone on the other end, listening to him.

"Hello?" he tried again.

He looked down at the caller ID, and his heart jumped.

"Sara?"

There was no response.

"Sara, honey, when did you get home?" he asked.

_Click._

Grissom stood holding the phone for a long time, listening to the dial tone. Why had Sara called him from her apartment, but not said anything? Why was she even in Vegas in the first place?

_It doesn't matter_, he told himself. All that mattered was that she was home.

Grabbing his keys and his jacket, he hurried out the door.

****

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	4. Chapter Three

**Author's Note - **A huge Thank You to everyone who has taken the time to read & review so far - your support is amazing and much appreciated. Extra thanks to **Wobbear** for another brilliant beta. 

**Disclaimer, etc-**See Prologue

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Three**

They arrived back at the lab after three hours of processing and interviewing various members of the Department of Corrections staff. After spending time in prison, Catherine wanted nothing more than to take a shower, but she dutifully headed towards the coroner's office, leaving Warrick and Greg to log the evidence.

"What's up, Doc?"

"That never gets old, Catherine," he replied in a tone that made it clear the joke was long past its use by date.

She smirked warmly at him, her affection for the Chief Medical Examiner's gruff ways as strong as ever.

"What have you got for me?"

"Nothing you'll like. No outward sign of injury. No obvious COD, apart from this –"

With a gloved finger, he pulled open an eyelid on the corpse. Catherine leaned in for a closer look.

"Petechial hemorrhaging?"

"That, along with the cyanosis around the mouth and congestion in the face and lungs, all suggest asphyxiation."

"Suffocation?" Catherine was incredulous. "Al, Tom Haviland was alive and well at lockdown, and he has a cell on his own."

He picked up one of the victim's hands and showed it to her.

"No defensive wounds on the hands or arms. No bruising on the face – not that you necessarily see that every time. The hyoid's intact and there's no bruising round the neck, so I've ruled out strangulation…"

"What then?"

He shrugged, non-committal. "I'm not sure yet. There are some poisons which paralyze the heart and lungs. They leave no post-mortem signs except the indicators for asphyxia. I've sent a panel over to tox."

She nodded her thanks and readied herself to go. "Thanks Doc."

"Oh Catherine, one more thing. His stomach contents were interesting. Nothing but several partially digested chocolates. And the faint aroma of alcohol."

"There was a box of liqueur chocolates by the bed," she thought out-loud.

Robbins nodded, already immersing himself back into his work.

"Thanks," she called over her shoulder as she left his domain.

* * *

The cold rain of one of Vegas's infrequent storms stung Grissom's face as he rushed up the steps towards Sara's apartment. Like everything in this city, the weather did nothing by half measures – the downpour was heavy and brutal.

Sara's front door was ajar, but it didn't feel welcoming. On automatic pilot, Grissom reached first into his pocket for a pair of gloves, then to his hip for his firearm, before remembering dimly that he had neither.

He pushed open the door with the back of his hand and stepped inside.

"Sara?"

The apartment had been ransacked; the boxes which Sara had neatly packed with her belongings before she left were now upended and scattered, picture frames smashed to pieces. Grissom stepped carefully around the glass, moving through the living room and toward the bedroom.

He had neatly made the bed two weeks ago, after he and Sara had made love and she had left. Now the comforter was on the floor, the sheets bunched up and torn. Drawers lay open. Someone had been looking for something.

He moved into the bathroom and found it in the same condition as the rest of the small apartment – turned upside down and empty.

_She wasn't here._

Taking out his phone, he called her cell again and it went straight to voicemail. Hitting 'end', he then dialed the lab.

"Judy? It's Gil Grissom. Is Catherine there? – Okay, can you let her know I need a CSI at Sara's apartment straight away? –"

He closed his eyes as the receptionist asked if Sara was okay.

"Yes, she's fine," he lied. "But there's been a break-in. Can you also call the PD and see if a detective is free to come by? – Thanks."

* * *

Greg was logging evidence and Warrick was examining a stack of letters when Catherine entered the layout room.

"Hey guys. Got anything yet?"

"The creeps," Warrick reported. "There are some seriously disturbed women out there. And one or two men."

"What? Can't they get dates in the real world? They have to go after a guy in prison?" Greg asked.

"A _famous _guy in prison," Catherine corrected. "Happens all the time. Richard Ramirez, Charles Manson – there are some women who find that whole psycho-killer thing attractive."

Warrick looked up from the letter he was currently reading. "So, do we have cause of death yet?"

"Not quite. Did you process the chocolates yet?"

Warrick nodded. "I lifted a couple of prints from the box and sent them to Jacqui."

"Do me a favor. Send the chocolates over to tox. There's a possibility that movie star guy was poisoned, and the chocolates were the only thing in his stomach."

Warrick uncurled himself from his chair. "Where will you be?"

"With Jacqui, checking out those prints."

* * *

"Why did you stay?"

Sara's knees were drawn up to her chin, her arms wrapped around them, hugging tightly. They were moving deeper into painful territory after their two week dance around the subject.

Her mother was silent for a moment, pondering the question as she took a long drag on her unfiltered Marlborough.

"I guess you just get to a point where you feel that's all you're worth," Laura replied slowly, measuring each word carefully. "I mean, if a person is told that they're worthless enough times, they start to believe it, right?"

_You. A person. They. _

Sara had heard women talking like this before. Abused women who avoided speaking in the first person because it meant they could distance themselves from the horrors of their experience.

"What about us?" Sara asked quietly, unshed tears choking her voice.

"He never laid a hand on you or your brother until – that day. I'd always told myself that – if he went near either of you I'd leave, or I'd…"

She trailed off, a shaking hand lifting the cigarette back to her mouth.

"Or you'd kill him," Sara finished the thought.

Laura Sidle nodded.

Sara didn't know where the question came from, but suddenly she couldn't help but ask.

"Did it help? Killing him? Did it –" She was unsure of how to finish the sentence. "Did it undo what he did to you?"

Laura took another thoughtful drag.

"I had to see a shrink in prison. They put me in the nuthouse for a while…"

"I know," Sara interrupted quietly.

"Well, I pretty much thought he was full of it – what the hell did he know? How could he empathize with an abused woman?"

She took another pull before stabbing the butt into the astray. Frowning in contemplation, she took out another cigarette and lit it, before continuing.

"But he did tell me one thing that stayed with me. He said, 'There are two types of abused women. Victims and Survivors.' Apparently, it took an act of 'extreme aggression' for me to stop being one and become the other."

A heavy silence fell between them as Sara processed that.

Laura had smoked her way through another cigarette before she spoke again.

"I know you think I was wrong or stupid, or whatever it is you think of me for putting you and your brother through all that. But it was all I'd ever known, Sara. My father beat up on my mother all through my childhood. I just thought – that was the way it was."

"What about me?" Sara challenged. "I grew up in the same environment. But I'd _never…"_

"That's what I'm most grateful for in this world, baby. You have _always_ been smarter than me."

Sara glanced at the newspaper that lay folded on the coffee table. "Not always."

Her mother followed her gaze and frowned, as though the paper itself had personally caused the hurt her daughter now felt.

"Well, I don't know what that judge was thinking, letting her out. But she'll get hers in the end."

"To be honest? I don't know that she will."

Laura Sidle got up and put her hands on both her daughter's shoulders, making Sara look at her.

"Don't you do that, baby," she insisted. "She has not beaten you. You are a survivor. _Not_ a victim."

"Sometimes I wonder..."

* * *

Warrick had recovered two separate sets of prints from the chocolate box. One pair, unsurprisingly, came back to Tom Haviland. Now Catherine sipped coffee, trying to wait patiently while the second set ran through the database.

"Wouldn't a prison check stuff like this coming in?" Jacqui was asking, her eyes still trained on the screen before her. "I'm surprised they even reached him. Don't the staff usually confiscate that sort of thing?"

"Sometimes," Catherine agreed. "But our victim's status ensured a certain level of favoritism among the guards."

"He paid them off?"

"That'd be my guess. He had _a lot _of luxury items in his cell."

The computer beeped, and Catherine moved beside Jacqui so she could see the screen.

"The prints are on the system?"

"Yeah, lucky break. Oh –" Jacqui tailed off, recognizing the name. "They come back to Jill Davenport."

"What!"

Catherine immediately flipped open her cell and hit speed dial.

"_Brass._"

"Jim, Catherine. Has Jill Davenport checked in with you guys yet?"

"Not that I know of," he replied. "But she's not due for another hour."

"You'd better send a squad car over to wherever she's supposed to be staying. I think she murdered Tom Haviland."

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	5. Chapter Four

**Author's Note**: This was a tough one to write, and I'm still not sure why... Hopefully the next chapter will come a little easier. Sorry for the delay.

Thanks as always go to **Wobbear** for the speedy and thorough beta - you rock! And thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed so far - you make me smile.

**

* * *

****Chapter Four**

"What the hell's going on, Griss?"

In an effort to stop himself from processing the apartment himself, Grissom had waited outside by his car, trying Sara's cell phone over and over again. Fifteen long minutes later, Nick pulled up, closely followed by Detective Vartann.

Grissom sighed and put his phone back in his pocket, finally acknowledging that she was not going to answer no matter how many times he tried.

"They say the definition of insanity is repeating the same action over and over again and expecting a different result," he muttered to himself, fairly certain he'd used that line before, but not remembering when. "Sara's phone's switched off. Has been for hours."

"I thought she was out of town," Nick said. "How come you came over?"

"I've been trying to call Sara all night," Grissom replied. "I haven't been able to reach her. I received a call from the phone in her apartment less than an hour ago. No one spoke. So I drove over here. The place has been trashed."

Nick and Vartann took all this in; the detective with the detached calm of his job, while Nick looked decidedly more worried. While Vartann went inside to look around, the young CSI took out his cell phone.

"First things first," he told his former supervisor. "Let's try to get hold of Sara."

"I told you – her phone's switched off."

"Not who I'm calling," Nick replied. He hit number one on his speed dial and waited.

"_Hey_."

"Hey G. Do me a favor? – Hop on the net and email our girl Sara. Her cell's switched off and I've got a friend here who's worried about her. – Thanks man. I'll see you later."

Pocketing his phone, he flashed Grissom a reassuring smile. "Greg says 'hey'. And he's going to email Sara right now. She's been checking it every day since she went to California, so she'll get it. Don't worry."

As Nick went inside the apartment to begin processing, Grissom remained outside to brood over the fact that Sara had seemingly been in contact with everyone but him.

* * *

_Hey Sara,_

_I know I promised not to nag you while you were away, but desperate times and all that jazz… Something's been going down here, the G-Man's been trying to call you and he's freaking out because your phone's off. So call him as soon as you get this, okay? It's important. Nagging over – I promise._

_Hope everything is good with you. We miss you. Nick says hi._

_Talk to you soon, Greg. _

He took a moment to read the message all the way through. His message was clear enough that she wouldn't ignore it, but not detailed enough to worry her too much – he hoped. That had been the rule he and Nick had imposed on themselves for their regular emails with Sara. Never worry her. Don't tell her about Grissom quitting the lab. She was in California. There was no point in freaking her out about things she couldn't do anything about.

Satisfied with what he'd written, he hit 'send' and went in search of Hodges.

"Got anything for me yet?"

"Hello Hodges. Thank you for running that analysis for me so quickly, Hodges. Here's a cup of my finest coffee, Hodges," the trace technician snarked at him.

Greg narrowed his eyes. "You don't even like my coffee."

Hodges snorted through his nose petulantly. "Still. It would be nice to be offered once in a while."

Rolling his eyes, Greg asked again, "What have you got for me?"

"After a lot of complicated analysis and no small amount of personal skill, I might add, I did find something very interesting in your chocolates."

When he didn't continue, Greg waved him on, becoming impatient.

"Which was –?"

"Coniine."

* * *

Nick was half way back to the lab when his cell phone rang. 

"Stokes."

"_Nick, it's Catherine. I heard there was a break-in at Sara's?"_

"Yeah, we don't think anything was taken, but it was messed up pretty good."

"_Did you get any prints?"_

"I lifted a whole bunch, but they could be Sara's. Or Grissom's. I'm on my way back to the lab to find out now."

"_Good. As soon as you drop them off in the print lab, come by the layout room. We have a situation. I'm going to call Grissom now and get him over here too."_

"Don't bother," Nick replied, looking in his review mirror. "He's right behind me."

* * *

"Okay. This is what we know." 

Grissom stood in the corner furthest from the layout table, out of sight from the doorway. The isolation served two purposes. He was no longer a part of this team and he feared that, should he sit down with them and begin to discuss the case, he might slip into his old role without realizing.

He was also hiding from Ecklie.

"Our vic, Tom Haviland, received his mail, which we now know included the chocolates found in his cell, yesterday just before lunch. We also know that Jill Davenport's prints were on the chocolate box. Warrick, did you find anything among his papers?"

Warrick picked up a sheet of paper, enclosed in a plastic evidence envelope, and began to read. "_You will learn the cost of betrayal. Retribution will be swift – J._"

He passed the note over the table to Catherine. "It was the only note that wasn't gushing about what a great guy he was, so I ran it over to Jacqui. One print and a couple of partials – a match to Jill Davenport.

"Any way of finding out when he received the letter?"

Warrick shook his head. "There was no envelope and it's not dated. He received dozens of letters everyday, so I don't think we'll ever know when he got this one."

"Well it obviously didn't worry him too much," Catherine remarked. "He didn't report it to a guard and nothing about his behavior suggested he was in fear of his life. He went about his day as normal, and was alive and well at lockdown that night."

"Things change," Greg commented grimly.

Catherine focused on him for a moment. "Do we have those tox results yet?"

Greg nodded. "Yeah. Hodges found Coniine in the chocolates. And I just got the tox back on our vic's blood. Also positive for Coniine."

"Poison Hemlock," Grissom remarked, almost to himself. "_If you kill a man like me, you will injure yourselves more than you will injure me_."

"Socrates," Greg cut in. "It was how the great philosopher was put to death in ancient Greece."

Grissom raised an eyebrow, a little taken aback.

"What? You're the only one around here allowed to be a font of information?" Trying not to grin too much, he turned back to Catherine. "Coniine is derived from hemlock," he explained. "It paralyses the respiratory system, leading to death by asphyxia and not leaving any other visible evidence of poisoning."

"Good work, Greg," Catherine remarked. "See if you can track down where she got her hands on the poison, especially when she's been staying as a guest of the state for the past month or more. Nick? Did you find anything probative at Sara's apartment?"

"I've left all the prints with Jacqui. She's sorting through them now. But the place was torn up pretty good. Jill or whoever was in there was obviously looking for something."

"She was looking for Sara," Grissom said without hesitation. No one argued. As much as they wanted to remain objective and not jump to conclusions, everyone's instincts were telling them exactly the same thing.

A heavy silence had descended, which was suddenly broken by the melodic beeping of Catherine's cell phone.

"Willows – Jim, did you find her? – What? How is that –? Okay, I'll send someone over now."

Hitting end, she met Grissom's eyes. "Both Jill and whoever she was supposed to be staying with have cleared out. There's no sign of them. Jim's in the process of getting a warrant, but he did find a greenhouse out back which was filled with, in his words, 'a lot of freaky looking plants'. It could be the source of the hemlock. Warrick, Nick, Greg, you guys get over there. Try and find anything that might give us a clue as to where Jill has gone, and anything else that might tie her to Tom Haviland's murder."

The three men filed past their old boss, each attempting to silently express their support while he stared unseeing at the wall, lost in his own thoughts.

As Warrick walked on ahead, Greg felt a firm hand on his lower back, one that at once comforted him, and brought to mind thoughts that should be kept away during working hours.

"Did you email Sara?" Nick asked him softly, before reluctantly removing his hand.

"Yeah." Greg replied, stealing half a glance at the man beside him as the made for the car park. "Nicky? Scale of one-to-ten, how worried should we be about her?"

Nick sighed. "I don't know, G. I just don't know."

* * *

When the others were gone, Grissom finally spoke. "We know where Jill's gone, Catherine. And if she left right after she called me from Sara's apartment, she's already got a four-hour head start on us." 

"Gil, Sara's fine. There's no way Jill could know…"

"They were friends at college. Sara probably told her where she grew up. With everything that's happened recently, it's a safe bet that Jill can guess where Sara is. She knows her. A little too well."

"What are you going to do?"

The decision was made before he consciously realized it. There was only one thing he could do.

"Call Jim back. Get him to find a current address for a Laura Sidle. Sara's mom. She'll probably be somewhere in the Tamales Bay area. Get him to page me with the details ASAP."

"And where will you be?"

"Trying to catch a plane," he announced on his way out the door.

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	6. Chapter Five

**Author's Note: **Despite my week-long holiday in the sun, and with no small amount of thanks to an extremely efficient beta in the form of **Wobbear**, I actually got this chapter finished a lot quicker than I had anticipated. I hope I'm not driving you all _too_ crazy with the tension

Thanks for everyone's continued support.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Her computer chimed as soon as she logged on, indicating that a message was waiting for her.

Email had become Sara's life-line – making her a little less lonely, keeping her abreast of all the happenings back in Vegas. But it was a poor substitute for the real people, she had come to realize. And absolutely nothing could come close to filling the void which Grissom's absence in her life had left.

Clicking on the 'new mail' icon, she smiled broadly at the sight of Greg's user name – _Einstein_.

As her eyes scanned over his message, her brief joy turned to worry. Something was wrong. Greg's tone was as light and breezy as ever, but there was something else behind it. And the very fact that he was telling her that Grissom was trying to contact her set off warning bells. Apart from his brief text message two weeks before, she had heard nothing from Grissom, while he lived up to his pledge of allowing her as much time as she needed away from him. It would take something pretty serious to get him to renege on so serious a promise.

And then there were the phone calls…

She had finally switched her phone off after one strange call became a dozen in the space of a few hours. Unwilling to continue to be harassed, but hesitant to contact anyone to investigate the matter further, she had simply hit the 'off' button and stuffed the offending cell phone down into the bottom of her bag – where she now dug around to retrieve it.

The message center alerted her to the fact that she had voice mail.

"_Sara? I know I promised not to contact you before you were ready, but I… I need to talk to you about something. Call me when you get this, please? I love you."_

"_Sara, it's me again. Look, it's all over the papers now. Jill… she's been released on bail pending a retrial. I'm sorry, honey. Please call me."_

"_Hey. Your phone's still off – should I be worried? I need to know you're okay. Call, text, anything, okay?"_

"_Sara? Come on honey, it's been hours. What's going on? Please. Switch on your phone and call me back."_

"_Sara, something's happened here and I need to talk to you right away. You need to call me the second you get this, okay? It's urgent. Please honey…"_

The messages had become increasingly anxious – frantic, even – as they went on. Hurriedly, she hit number one on her speed dial and waited while it rang out.

"_This is Gil Grissom. Please leave a name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."_

Turn about was fair play, she supposed. Of course reaching him would now be a problem.

"Griss? It's Sara. I'm sorry – I didn't get your messages until just now. My phone's been off… but I guess you knew that already," she laughed nervously. "I'll… I'll explain when I talk to you. I'll keep it switched on, so call me back when you get this."

She paused, unwilling to end the call without including a more personal message. "I miss you," she told his automated ear, before hanging up.

* * *

For once, luck was on his side. 

Grissom had managed to wangle a last minute seat on a flight to San Francisco, departing barely an hour after he left the lab.

With great reluctance, he switched his cell phone off at the last possible moment before take off, still holding out hope that Sara would call to let him know she was perfectly safe and all his worrying had been totally unnecessary. So far, however, his phone had only chirped once, when Brass called to let him know that he was looking into the whereabouts of Laura Sidle and that he'd have the information ASAP.

As he sat in his seat with nothing worthwhile to focus his attention on, he found himself puzzling over what Jill's next move would be. Given her actions to date, she would go after anyone whom she felt had wronged her in any way. She had already gone so far as to murder the object of her original obsession, the man who, in truth, had been the catalyst for all that was now occurring.

One thing he knew for certain – Sara was the focal point of the delusional woman's rage. While Jill was free, Sara would not be safe – and nor would anyone close to her.

* * *

Nick watched from a discreet distance as Greg sighed and stretched. They'd been combing the suspect's residence for hours, with little success, and it was taking its toll on all of them. 

Nick paused for a moment, fighting the urge to go to him and work out the kinks in the younger man's neck and shoulders with his well-practiced hands. Desire flared in his belly and he immediately shook it off and got himself back under control.

"Time and place," he intoned to himself, as he slipped his professional mask on and crossed the room.

"Got anything?"

Greg looked up, happy to see him, but his frustration with the case more than obvious.

"Nada. You?"

Nick shook his head. "Nothing useful. Warrick's taken samples of the plants from the greenhouse back to the lab, so hopefully we'll at least be able to prove the origin of the poison. But we've got nothing that tells us what Jill's next move is going to be."

A flash of fear crossed Greg's face. "Do you think Grissom's right? That she's gone after Sara?"

Nick felt as lost and as frightened as Greg looked.

"I don't know, G. I just don't know…"

* * *

When Grissom still hadn't called her back an hour later, Sara decided to go straight to the source. 

"_Sanders._"

"Hey. It's me."

"Sara! Man, is it good to hear your voice." His voice became distant for a moment as he turned his head away to speak to someone else at his end of the conversation. "Nicky. It's Sara!"

Sara's earlier suspicions were now being confirmed as far as she was concerned. "Okay, you are _way_ too happy to hear from me. What's going on?"

There was an uncomfortable semi-silence while Greg cleared his throat and tried to figure out how to avoid her question.

"Greg," she said in her sternest voice.

"Have you – uh – talked to Grissom yet?" he finally asked.

"No. I called, but his phone's switched off. I figured he must be out at a scene."

Another pause, followed by a nervous cough.

"No… No, he's not at a scene…" he replied.

Back in Vegas, Greg covered the mouthpiece of his phone with an increasingly sweaty palm and turned to Nick.

"Should I tell her he's on his way to California?"

Instantly, Sara's voice – several octaves higher than normal – came through his phone.

"_Greg! Why is Grissom coming to California?"_

_Busted, _he thought. Stammering and stalling, he somehow managed to articulate "Now Sara, don't get upset…" before the phone was hijacked.

"Sara? It's Nick."

"Please tell me you're going to be more forthcoming than your partner in crime there."

He shot Greg an exasperated look before replying. "He's on his way to you. Some heavy stuff is going down here right now and, when he couldn't reach you, he panicked."

Grissom and panic were not two words readily associated with each other, so Nick's words only served to concern her further.

"What 'stuff'? Nicky, spit it out."

The Texan paused for a moment, for once not trying to avoid the question, but rather to figure out the best way to phrase the answer. With Sara? Straight and to the point was always the best option.

"Jill's been released on bail. The jury came back hung, so she's out pending the retrial."

"I know," she replied, her feelings about that event temporarily overshadowed by confusion. "Grissom panicked over that?"

"Not exactly, no," he replied. "She's gone missing. Didn't present herself to the PD this morning, which is a condition of her bail."

"Damn," she swore under her breath. "But that doesn't mean she's coming…"

"She was at your apartment, Sara," he cut her off. "She broke in, trashed the place like she was looking for something. And… she called Grissom."

A cold dread washed over her. "What did she say to him?"

"Nothing. She hung up."

"Did he get many of these calls?"

Nick frowned. "I don't know. Why?"

Taking a deep breath, she explained that her own experience with hang ups the previous day was the reason for her phone being switched off. Nick didn't need to say anything – she knew exactly what he was thinking. Jill was coming for her.

"What else?" she asked him. "What else do I need to know?"

Nick took a seat and began to tell her about Tom Haviland.

* * *

Grissom rushed through the terminal to the Avis counter and for once didn't debate with the clerk the merits of his preferred Mercedes versus an 'American' car. He took the first available vehicle and was soon on the US-101, the Bayshore Freeway, heading north into the city and across the Golden Gate Bridge. It was only then he realized that, in his haste, he'd forgotten to switch his cell phone on. 

Cursing under his breath, he drove one-handed as he turned it on and waited for any messages to come through. The first was a text from Jim, with a current address for Sara's mother and a word of warning for him not to do anything stupid.

Then the phone chirped to let him know he had voice mail. He sighed with relief as Sara's voice came through his handset, allaying his worst fears. He let the message play out before hitting "1" on his speed-dial.

His eagerness to talk to her was quickly quashed by a busy signal. Cursing the continuation of his bad luck, he dropped the phone onto the passenger seat and stepped on the gas, not noticing the black sedan that pulled out of the traffic behind and followed him.

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	7. Chapter Six

**Author's Note: **A big thank you to **Wobbear** for being a terrific beta. And thanks to everyone for their support.

Two things - If you don't remember the letter that Jill (we assume) wrote back in the prologue, you might want to quickly reacquaint yourself with it (though it's not vital).

Secondly, before everyone asks at the end of this chapter (because you probably will – **_Why yes, I am evil…_ **

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Six**

Sara pocketed her phone as she left the guesthouse and walked out into the crisp early morning air. She caught herself looking up and down the street, seeking out anything suspicious. Her peaceful hometown had been tainted by her paranoia, and she resented the hell out of that fact.

Setting off at a moderate pace, she jogged down the street and towards the beach. Running on the soft sand was difficult and the extra exertion helped focus her – temporarily pushing other concerns aside as she exercised.

The sun was still low in the sky, glinting off the waves. The beach was deserted and not a sound disturbed Sara, save for the cry of the gulls and the muffled thudding of her own feet hitting the sand –

Until a loud bang that startled both her and all the nearby birds.

She stopped in her tracks and looked around, fearful. Somewhere on the road, a car had backfired. Just one of those things, and yet it had left her heart pounding in her throat. Dimly, she wished her firearm wasn't back in the lab in Vegas.

_Damn Nicky for telling her what was going on._

No. That wasn't fair. She had asked him to tell her. And even if she hadn't – what sort of a friend would he have been if he didn't warn her, prepare her, for what was coming.

And she was coming.

Sara could feel Jill's presence drawing nearer with every moment that passed. It was not a question of if Jill would find her. It was only a matter of when.

Trying her best to calm her breathing, she set off again – walking this time – in the hope of settling her nerves. She doubted that it was possible – not when she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched.

* * *

Catherine found Nick bent over the layout table, logging evidence with a distinctly dissatisfied air about him. 

"Hey. What have you got?"

"A whole lot of nothing," the Texan replied, his usually relaxed features stretched taut on his face. "Plenty of evidence for a conviction on the Haviland murder – I've already matched the pen and paper she used to write the note and Warrick found hemlock in a greenhouse in the back of the property."

She sat down and regarded him closely, knowing full well that a slam-dunk case would normally have him elated, not down in the dumps as he was now.

"So, what's the problem?"

He sighed and sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. "To be honest, I could give a damn about solving that scumbag's murder right now."

"You'd rather know what Jill's planning next," she stated.

"Exactly," Nick replied grimly. He paused, glancing down at the white knuckles of fists he didn't remember forming.

"I'm worried about her, Cath."

She didn't have to ask who he was referring to. "Sara will be just fine," she reassured him. "Gil will be with her by now. He'll keep her safe."

"I'm worried about him too," he admitted. "That psycho bitch is after both of them. And we don't know if she's got someone helping her this time or who that might be…"

At this, Catherine visibly perked up, smirking as she slid the file in front of her colleague.

"We know now, thanks to Brass," she told him. "The house Jill was supposed to be staying at is owned by a Graham Price. Thirty-five years old. Works as a botanist out in Henderson. Hasn't been to work in three days."

"A botanist? Well that explains the greenhouse. Jill wouldn't have had time to grow the hemlock herself," Nick mused. "Criminal record?"

Catherine shook her head. "Not as such. He was hauled in on a sexual assault charge last year. The victim originally claimed that Price was stalking her, and it escalated to assault. But the charges were dropped – the witness claimed it was all a big mistake."

"You don't sound so sure."

Catherine shot him a smile of pure confidence. "Well, I certainly plan on finding out."

* * *

"Hey, Hodges? What have you got for me?" 

Warrick strode into the trace lab and found David Hodges, hunched over his microscope.

"Just a moment," the lab tech replied, carefully adjusting the focus on one half of the comparison microscope. "Ah, perfect."

He took a step back from his workstation and gestured to Warrick to take his place at the scope.

"Take a look."

Warrick peered down both lenses and once and was relieved to see what appeared to be a perfect match.

"What you're looking at are plant cells. The sample on the left is from the poisoned chocolates in the Haviland case. The right is the sample from the hemlock plant you brought in last night. As you can see, they're identical."

Warrick almost smiled at him. "Good work, Hodges."

* * *

The envelope was waiting for her, on her bed, when she returned to the guest house. 

Gloves should have been the first thing that popped into her mind. She'd been a CSI for a little over eight years after all. Her second thought should have been the police – she should have instinctively called them and not touched the letter until after they arrived.

But training, common sense – both went out the window at the first glimpse of the creamy white envelope resting on the lavender comforter of her bed. She grabbed it and, with shaking fingers, opened it.

Snatches of words ran through her mind – disjointed like her thoughts – as she read.

_Your life is mine. _

_You are nothing_

_my victim. _

_destroy your soul. _

_make you beg _

_the end._

_Retribution. _

_Vengeance _

_mine…_

The paper drifted innocently back down to the bed as all the strength left Sara's hands. She was frozen – a deer in the headlights.

_Jill had been in her room…_

A noise sounded above her head – a footstep, a creaking floorboard. Fight or flight kicked in, and flight was the instinct she found herself responding to. She turned and ran, back down the stairs and out the front door. She didn't stop, didn't look back, didn't register anything except her sheer terror.

Until she ran into someone very solid.

Then she screamed.

**To Be Continued...**


	8. Chapter Seven

**Author's Note:** I tried not to keep you waiting for too long. Apparently I'm not quite as evil as I like to make out ;)

Big thanks to **Wobbear** for all her help. And much love to everyone that's reading and reviewing - you guys all rock!

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Seven**

_Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure;_

_Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure._

Lord Byron (Don Juan, canto 13)

* * *

_It's time,_ she thought as she watched a myriad of expressions play across Sara's face. But one stood out above all the rest.

_Fear. _

Oh yes, there was so much fear. It salved Jill's wounds and made her grin fiercely as she ran her fingers over the gun in her jacket pocket. It was for insurance purposes only. She would never shoot Sara – unless she had to.

No. She had plans for Ms. Sidle.

She had killed Tom from a distance. It had broken her heart to do so, but it was the only way she could ever be free. His love for her had become tainted. Impure. He was no longer worthy of her love. But how she wished she could have been there for his last breath, to be eternally connected to him.

She was denied the opportunity to be with Tom for his end. The same would not be true with Sara.

And her end was coming.

* * *

Sara's shriek of fear turned into a yell of both surprise and relief.

"Grissom!"

She threw her arms around his neck and he pulled her as close to him as possible, relishing the feel of her after such a long separation.

It took a moment before he realized that she was shaking like a leaf.

"Sara?" he asked. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

He drew back to look at her and saw the tears on her face. The fear.

"Honey?"

She shook her head and looked around, as if she expected to see someone coming after her.

"Let's get out of here," she whispered.

Still at a loss, but reluctant to argue, Grissom took Sara's hand and led her to his rental car.

* * *

"Honey, I'm home."

Greg grinned foolishly to himself as he kicked off his shoes in the hallway and removed his jacket, before ambling into the living room. Nick was stretched out on the sofa, the stress of the day still pressing down heavily on him.

"You're never going to get tired of saying that, are you?" he asked, the weariness of his voice betrayed by the grin on his face.

Greg shook his head. "Not while I have you to say it to."

He knelt down beside him and kissed him softly. "You okay?"

Nick shrugged evasively. "Rough day, is all."

Greg sighed and sat back on his heels. "Stop beating yourself up. You did the right thing."

Nick opened his mouth to protest, but the younger man cut him off.

"I know you, Nick Stokes. You've been telling yourself that you told Sara too much. That you got her all freaked out and it's all your fault. So I'm telling you to knock it off."

"_You_ weren't going to tell her," Nick replied.

"Which makes me a big fraidy-cat coward. Not right," Greg told him. "She needed to know, Nicky. And the G-man will be with her by now. She's fine."

Nick considered Greg's words carefully and then nodded. Sitting up, he reached out and wrapped his arms around his lover.

"You're right," he said. "I know you're right. I just can't help worrying."

Greg kissed him again, slowly and sweetly, pulling his body close. When they came up for air, Greg smiled.

"You wouldn't be you if you didn't worry. We'll call her tomorrow, okay? But how about we let her have some quality time with her boyfriend tonight?"

Nick grinned in response. "How about we do something similar ourselves?"

* * *

Sara told him everything on the drive. More than once he took a hand off the wheel to hold hers – partly to comfort her, partly to reassure himself that she was really with him.

"I'd been bargaining on her driving here, so she wouldn't be seen," he rationalized. "I guess if she beat me here, she must have flown after all."

He pulled the car off the road and parked down by a beach. Sara was still jumpy and he would need to calm her down before they could make any decisions about where to go from here.

She got out of the car and headed straight for the water, looking out over the bay as the sun slowly made its way towards the horizon. As he came to stand behind her, Grissom wrapped his arms around her instinctively. She leaned back into him, grateful for his comforting warmth. They stood for a long time in silence, listening to the waves washing over the sand.

"This place has always been my safe haven," she told him finally. "When things got too much for me, I always pictured myself back here and it… helped. And now, she's taken that from me."

Grissom shook his head. "She can only take it from you if you let her."

"As a child, I was convinced that, if only we hadn't left the bay, everything would have been fine. My father was on the road a lot, working as a truck driver, and Mom looked after a guest house just a few miles from here."

One of her hands went to her face and, even though he couldn't see it, Grissom knew she was wiping her tears away. He tightened his arms around her and remained silent, inviting her to continue.

"We loved it here. We were happy. But, when I was six, my Dad lost his job and had to get another one. A factory. In Modesto. He wanted us all with him, so Mom gave up her job in the guest house and moved us there.

"Everything changed. He was so… angry. All the time. He started drinking. Beating on my Mom. For years, I'd lie awake listening to him yelling or her crying. Waking up in the morning to find her with a new bruise, a new broken bone. Until the night he decided to turn his attention onto me. That was the final straw for her. She killed him to protect me."

"You should never have been put through that," Grissom said, his anger at what Sara had been subjected to steadily building.

She turned in his arms and looked at him. "Why not? How many kids have gone through the very same thing? Or worse? Why should they go through it, but not me?"

He brushed the stray hair from her face, his expression softening. "You're right. No one should ever have to go through that."

He pressed his lips to her forehead, offering her comfort anyway he knew how. She tilted her face towards him, bringing her own lips up to meet his. Their kiss was tender at first, but their long separation soon overtook them and the kiss deepened, passion spilling over as they clung to one another.

"What do you want to do now?" he asked as they began to make their way back to the car.

She thought for a moment. "I can't go back to the guest house tonight. Maybe tomorrow, we could go back for my things, but –"

She left the sentence unfinished. All her current fears were tied to that room. He knew she would most likely not set foot in it again.

"I passed a hotel a few miles back," he told her. "Let's go there tonight. We'll figure out the rest in the morning."

She nodded and took his hand, feeling safe for the first time that day.

**To Be Continued...**


	9. Chapter Eight

**Author's Note: **I'm really sorry there was such a long delay with this chapter - I had a really painful bout of writer's block.

Many thanks to **Wobbear** for being a top-notch beta. And thanks in advance to all of you who haven't abandoned this story after such a long wait between chapters.

---

**Chapter Eight**

_How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams._

Bram Stoker (Dracula, 1897)

---

Wrapped in the secure warmth of Grissom's arms, Sara snuggled in and sighed.

She had missed this so much.

Having spent a large part of her adult life contentedly single, the simple act of lying in another's arms was something she always thought that she could live without.

But that was before.

Now she had experienced the complete and utter contentment found in sharing intimacy with the man she loved, and who loved her back. It was no longer a question of doing without, of going it alone. She couldn't go back. They had forever imprinted themselves on the other's soul. For better or for worse, it was no longer possible to live apart.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he drew her closer still, burying his face in her neck and kissing the soft skin he found there. She smiled, stroking her fingers over his hands, which rested on her stomach.

"So, tell me about home," she instructed him. "Greg and Nick have been doing a poor job of giving me details. What have I missed?"

"Same old, same old," he told her, his lips moving up to brush against her ear. "Crimes. Evidence. The usual."

His evasive answer earned a raised eyebrow from her. "Nothing strange? Unusual? It is still Vegas, right? There are usually at least a couple of weird cases."

Instead of replying, he became very interested in her earlobe.

"Is the lab coping with being shorthanded?" She tried again.

"I'm sure Catherine has everything well in hand in my absence," he replied, one hand sliding across her stomach and slowly upwards…

"In your absence?" she asked. "While you're here, you mean?"

"Of course," he murmured, before devouring her neck in earnest.

"So, nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that you quit the lab two weeks ago"

Grissom's hand and lips stilled as if he had suddenly been paralyzed.

"How…?"

She turned to face him. "Nick told me. Did you really expect me not to find out?"

"I didn't plan on keeping it from you, exactly," he replied. "I just… we haven't spoken in two weeks, Sara. And with everything that's going on at the moment, I didn't think it was something that needed to be discussed right now."

"Well, I do," she told him, sitting up in the bed. "Griss, it's your whole life. How can you throw it away so casually?"

"Maybe I'm tired of it being my whole life," he said quietly. "Maybe I want to start a new life. With you."

"And maybe I don't want you to have to choose between the two."

"Sara," he sighed. "The job – whatever path I end up taking – it'll never be as important as you are to me. So really, there's no choice to be made."

There was no response to that, so she kissed him, long and hard. They made love again, clinging to each other in the dark, protecting each other from the shadows that surrounded them, which sought to harm.

Later, as she finally succumbed to sleep, Grissom lay watching her. As the nightmares took hold once more, he gathered her gently into his arms, soothing her as she trembled.

He closed his eyes and dreamed of a time when her nightmares might cease.

---

The dean's office was a lesson in understated elegance – something rarely seen in Las Vegas, Catherine noted. Decorated in neutral tones and rich woods, the large oak desk which dominated the room was rivaled only by the man himself. At six foot five, Dean Andrew Adams made Warrick look short.

"Thank you for seeing us," she said as she took a seat on the proffered chair, which she was fairly certain was an antique.

"You're more than welcome," the dean replied. "Anything I can do to help the local PD. I understand from my secretary that you wish to discuss one of our students. A…" he glanced down at the legal pad centered on the leather desk blotter – "Denise Jones."

"That's right," Warrick replied. "Specifically, the accusations she made last year regarding one of your employees. Graham Price."

The dean frowned. "That matter was resolved. Denise admitted that she had lied about the whole thing. She was suspended for the rest of the semester and the charges again Graham Price were dropped."

"That seems to be the case, sir," Catherine responded. "But Mr. Price is now a suspect in a current case, and we're trying to get as much background on him as possible."

"You think that Denise was telling the truth?" he asked, seeming confused. "That Price did assault her?"

"We don't know," Warrick told him. "Which is why we're hoping to speak to her."

The dean picked up his phone. "Carol? Could you see if you could track down one of our students? Denise Jones. If she's on campus today, could you have her come see me straight away? Thank you."

"Thank you, Dean Adams," Catherine said. "While we're waiting, what can you tell us about Graham Price?"

The dean laced his fingers together, taking a moment to think. "To be honest, I know little about him. He seems to be somewhat of a loner – keeps to himself most of the time. Rarely attends faculty mixers. I believe we hired him around five years ago. He was regarded highly in his field – a very talented botanist – which is obviously why we hired him."

"What was your opinion when the accusations were made against him last year?" Warrick wanted to know.

"Well, to be honest, I was inclined to believe Denise when she first came forward. She was a straight 'A' student, with an impeccable record from all her professors. A levelheaded young woman," he paused for a moment, hesitating slightly before continuing. "A few of the female faculty members did express some … reservations regarding Price's character."

"What sort of reservations?"

"Well, the phrase they used mostly was that he 'gave them the creeps'. When Denise came to me, I took the matter very seriously. Price was put on leave, and of course the police were called, before Denise admitted that she'd made the whole thing up."

"Was she in Price's class?"

The dean nodded. "I believe she was." He retrieved her file and flipped it open. "Yes. However, since returning to school, she has changed her major. In fact, she's dropped botany altogether."

"Have you heard from Price in the past few days?" Warrick asked.

The dean shook his head. "Not personally. But he did call the department secretary to let her know he'd be gone for at least a week. A family situation, I believe he said."

---

Nick rolled over and groaned as the beeping began. His hand reached out blindly for the alarm clock, hitting the snooze button and inadvertently sending the clock tumbling to the floor. But still, the beeping continued.

"Greg," he grumbled, his face buried deep within his pillow. "Phone."

Moments later, the noise ended, as Greg somehow managed to find and answer his cell with his eyes firmly shut.

"'lo?" he muttered. "Archie? Couldn't this wait 'til I came in tonight?"

Greg yawned and stretched as the audio visual expert talked. "Alright. Okay. Yeah. I'll be right there. Thanks."

Hanging up, he rolled over to find Nick fast asleep once more. A few sharp prods to the ribs fixed that.

"I'm sleeping," the Texan mumbled.

In response, Greg nuzzled into his partners neck. "I need to go in. Archie found something on Price's computer."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You coming with?"

Nick sighed and stretched, resigned to the fact that there would be no more sleep for him that day.

---

Denise Jones was a pretty 21-year-old girl – blonde, blue-eyed and looking every bit the varsity cheerleader which her sweater proclaimed. She blinked nervously when she found an additional two people waiting for her in the dean's office.

"Dean Adams? You wanted to see me?"

The dean stood and ushered her in, directing her to a chair near Catherine.

"These people are from the crime lab, Denise," he told her. "They want to ask you a few questions." He turned to Catherine and Warrick. "If you need anything else from me, please don't hesitate."

"Thank you," Catherine replied.

He shut the door behind him, leaving the three of them alone.

"Denise, I'm Catherine Willows and this is Warrick Brown."

"What is this about?" Denise asked. "Am I in trouble for something?"

Catherine smiled kindly at the girl. "No, Denise. You're not in trouble. We just want to talk to you about last year. Graham Price."

Immediately, the girl looked terrified. "I told the police last year. I made the whole thing up."

"Are you sure about that, Denise?" Warrick asked. "Because, for a girl who was lying, you seem really afraid of something."

She shook her head. "I can't talk to you. If he finds out…"

"Denise, he won't," Catherine told her, reaching out to set a hand comfortingly on the girl's arm. "Graham Price isn't on campus at the moment. We don't even think he's in town right now. You're safe."

"Did he threaten you, Denise?" Warrick asked. "Did he tell you that he'd hurt you if you didn't drop the charges?"

"He…" Tears glinted in her eyes as she struggled to speak. "He likes pain. He whispered about it to me the whole… He said he knew hundreds of different ways to hurt me."

She wiped away the tears, angry now. "God, I sound like such a coward. But I wasn't just scared for me. My younger sister was a freshman last year. He told me he'd do the same to her. He told me about all these poisons he knew of – ones he could make from his plants. He told me that my sister would just drop dead one day after having a soft drink or eating lunch. And that no one would ever know that he killed her."

"So you told everyone that you'd lied about the allegations."

"I had no choice."

Catherine nodded, her heart aching for the girl and the situation she had found herself in. And more than ever, she worried about Price's connection to Jill. If he was as dangerous as Denise described, then the situation was potentially worse than they had realized.

"Denise, we need your help," she told the girl. "Can you come to the station with us and speak to a detective about everything that happened last year?"

She hesitated.

"We're going to catch him," Warrick tried to reassure her. "And we'll make sure you and your sister are safe until we do."

Finally, she nodded. "Okay. I'll help."

---

A phone rang, startling Sara out of her sleep. She watched uneasily as Grissom flipped it open and held it to his ear.

"Grissom."

He gave her a small smile and rested his hand on her knee to help settle her nerves as he responded to the voice at the other end of the line.

"Greg. What have you found?"

She deflated into the pillow as she released the breath she'd been holding, angry with herself for being so frightened of a simple phone call.

"That's interesting," she heard him say. "And there's more? Okay, keep digging and let me know."

Sara stretched and rolled over to rest her head on his thigh.

"Do me a favor and have Catherine call me when she gets back," he said. "Okay. And Greg? Thanks."

Hanging up, he bent to kiss her on the top of the head. "Morning."

She glanced at the bright sunlight outside the hotel window. "I think it's more like late afternoon."

Kissing her firmly on the lips, he sat up and stretched. "I think a shower's in order. Followed by food. And then we'll figure out our next step."

She nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"Will you join me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

She smiled broadly. "I'll be right there."

She sat up as he disappeared into the bathroom and she took a moment to settle the last of her nerves. She was safe, here with him. It was silly to be afraid of a ringing phone…

As if on cue, Grissom's cell phone rang again. Smiling, she picked it up.

"Hey Greggo! Forget to tell Griss something?"

Silence seeped like a malevolent fog from the ear piece and into the room, chilling the air around her. She could sense her presence on the other end.

She struggled to keep the tremor out of her voice as she asked, "Hello?"

"Hello Sara," replied Jill.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Author's Note: **I'm really sorry there was such a delay in getting this chapter written. Real Life has been busy. Good news is that I've been on holiday from work this past week and got a lot of writing done, so the next few chapters should come more swiftly.

Thanks and much love to **Wobbear** for another amazing job as beta.

In her notes for this chapter, **Wobbear** mentioned that she found herself wondering whether or not Grissom was wearing a towel when he came out of the bathroom. Well, I'm just going to leave that up to everyone's imagination...

**

* * *

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**Chapter Nine**

"Have you missed me?"

The voice was sickly sweet and did nothing to disguise the noxious evil of its owner. Her only purpose was to terrify, to break down Sara's last remaining walls, to make her completely vulnerable.

Sara felt bile rising in her throat. Unbidden, the image of Hank sprung into her mind – shot, bloody, his once handsome face eaten away by the caustic acid that Jill had poured over him in death. He had not deserved that. No one, no matter what their faults or transgressions, could possibly _deserve_ such a horrible death. And the knowledge that he had been nothing more than a pawn – his death's only purpose was to set in motion Jill's sick game of revenge – made his murder all the more unspeakable.

Anger surged in her chest like a vengeful ghost, rage bubbling up, pushing her fear temporarily to one side.

"What do you want, Jill?"

"You sound angry, Sara." Jill sounded both surprised and arrogant. "You should be careful. If you lose your temper, you might do something rash. Considering your… family history."

"Killing you would be letting you off too easy," Sara said. "You're going to rot in jail for what you've done."

Her laugh was cold and derisive. "You and your _boyfriend _will have to catch me first. And I have plans for the two of you. I'm just getting warmed up – the real fun is still to come."

"Go to hell!"

"Poor Sara. The victims' champion. How does it feel now that you're the victim?"

"I am not your victim, you bitch!" Sara found herself screaming at a dial tone.

"Sara?"

Grissom stood in the bathroom doorway, dripping from the shower. He looked from Sara's face to the phone in a panic.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

Unmindful of his wet skin, he moved towards her with the intention of wrapping his arms around her. Before he could reach her, Sara had flung the phone down onto the bed and stalked away towards the window. She did not want to be comforted right now. She wanted to seethe.

"I'm sick of this," she said. "I'm sick of waiting around, waiting for her to call or to show up. God! She's got me feeling so pathetic and helpless. I hate that she has that much power!"

Grissom nodded. He understood all too well.

"I am _not _her victim!" she continued to rage. She could not seem to stop herself. "There's a difference between being _victimized_ and being a _victim_."

"What do you want to do?"

She shook her head and rubbed her face, trying to find the answer. It was one thing to be fired up enough to want to fight back. It was quite another to know exactly what to do.

"I don't know," she said, a hint of defeat in her voice. "But we have to do something."

"Then we will," he told her. "Let's start by getting out of here. We'll go back to the guest house and pick up your things. Then we'll figure out where to go from there."

* * *

"What do we know so far?" 

Catherine sat before her team, looking from face to face. Everyone was exhausted, but each person's eyes were alert and ready, prepared to puzzle this case out to resolution, even if it meant a week without sleep.

It was personal.

"Archie's managed to get into Graham Price's e-mail," Greg began. "Both his AOL account, and a bunch of e-mails that were saved on his hard drive. Most of them are from Jill."

"All recent?" Catherine asked.

Greg shook his head. "So far? It goes back about two years."

"They've been planning this for _a long_ time," Nick added. "Jill's been feeding Price a lot of details about Sara, Grissom, the Tom Haviland case. She also asked him to follow Sara, and to send her any photographs he took."

"So he was her eyes and ears here while she was in California," Catherine said. "He probably stalked Hank Pettigrew as well, set his murder up for her."

"It looks that way," Greg agreed. "He must be as psychotic as she is."

Warrick sat forward in his chair and nodded. "He is. We spent the past few hours interviewing one of his victims – Denise Jones. She told us that Price isn't just into poisonous plants. He likes torture, rape and threats too."

Catherine was shuffling through the e-mail printouts that Nick had handed to her.

"Any indication that Price was the one who provided the rohypnol that was used to drug Sara the night Hank was murdered?"

"No direct evidence," Nick replied. "But it's sounding more and more likely to me."

"So, now we have two psychos to worry about, instead of just one," Greg said.

"That's for certain," Catherine replied. "Denise told us that Price spent hours bragging to her about people he'd murdered over the years. And, apparently, there were a lot."

* * *

They lingered no longer than necessary in the guest house. The few clothes Sara had hanging in the wardrobe were summarily scooped out and dumped unceremoniously into her suitcase. The couple of dresser drawers she had been using were quickly emptied. 

Grissom picked up the suitcase as Sara stuffed the last of her things into a satchel. She took one last look around the room to ensure nothing was forgotten, before she picked up her laptop case and nodded to him.

"Let's go."

Once they were on the coast road, Grissom took a moment to consider their options. The sensible thing would be to return to Vegas. But that was a decision for Sara to make.

As if she were reading his mind, Sara turned to look at him and sighed. "Let's go home."

He glanced sideways at her. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Let's stop off at my mom's so I can let her know what's going on. Then take me home."

He reached across and squeezed her hand, taking a moment to caress her soft skin with his thumb.

"I love you."

She smiled. "I love you too."

Out of nowhere, headlights blazed behind them, shining through the rear window and making it hard to see. They lurched forward as a car slammed into them.

Grissom pressed down harder on the gas, speeding up in the hopes of eluding the pursuer. Momentarily, it fell behind, but soon picked up speed and was on their tail once more.

Grissom glanced to his right. A railing was all that separated them from a steep, rocky drop into the Pacific Ocean. With that in mind, he steered towards the center of the road, praying that no one would come towards them in the opposite lane.

The car hit them again, sending them fully onto the wrong side of the road. To their left was a forest, dark and dense with trees. The gas pedal was to the floor now as they careered along at break-neck speed.

Sara fumbled for her cell phone and managed to push a nine and a one before they were hit again. The car swerved; Grissom overcorrected. Suddenly they were tumbling over and over, down the embankment and straight into a tree.

Sara thought she heard Grissom say her name before the world turned black.

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	11. Chapter Ten

**Authors Note: **Thanks to everyone for their support. Extra hugs to **Wobbear** for being an awesome beta.**

* * *

**

**Chapter Ten**

Sara could hear a chorus of insects all around her. She recognized the sound of a cicada sawing and felt faintly irritated. Grissom's menagerie of insects was normally silent – orange-kneed tarantulas and cockroaches might not be the cuddliest of pets, but at least they didn't disturb your sleep. It didn't make sense that he had chosen to replace them with this new noisy collection of bugs…

The world started to come into focus. She didn't know where she was at first, until a sharp pain shot through her body and it all came flooding back. A car chase … a crash … Grissom.

She turned her head to see him and another flash of pain went through her.

"Griss?"

There was no reply.

Cold terror filled her.

"Grissom?"

Slowly Sara turned towards the driver's seat.

It was empty.

Her eyes scanned the surrounding area and she could not see him. Fumbling for her bag, she managed to retrieve a flashlight and used it to probe the forest floor.

He wasn't there.

"Grissom!" She screamed into the night.

"Grissom!"

* * *

Nick stared intently at his computer screen, as if an answer would appear to him if he looked hard enough.

He was so consumed that he didn't hear Greg enter the room. He jumped at the sound of his name.

"You okay?" Greg asked, his eyes soft with concern.

"Yeah." Nick rubbed his eyes and refocusing them back on the screen.

"Want me to take over? You could go grab some coffee. Take a break."

The Texan shrugged. "Maybe in a little while."

He sat back in his chair and looked at Greg. "They're ten steps ahead of us. They've been planning all this for two years. They've been playing us. Jill getting arrested? That was all part of the plan. And now, I can't help but think that they were counting on Sara going to California. That, somehow, they knew that's what she'd do, just like they knew Grissom would go after her."

"You make it sound like they're omnipotent." The though of that unnerved Greg.

"Maybe they are."

Nick's computer chimed, indicating that he had new e-mail. The words that appeared on screen only served to confirm his theory.

_The Student will become the Teacher._

_The Son replaces his Father._

_You will drip your fingers into his blood and see._

_He followed the evidence. Now he is the evidence._

_Will you be able to do it? Can she?_

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Before Nick could answer, his cell phone rang.

"Stokes." He listened for a moment and his anger turned to fear. "What? Where is she? Is she okay? What about…?" He paused as the person on the other end of the line filled him in. "Of course. We'll be there as soon as possible."

He hung up.

"What's going on?" Greg wanted to know.

"We need to get to California," Nick replied. "There's been an accident. Sara's in the hospital. And Grissom's missing."

* * *

When they arrived a few hours later, the lobby of the hospital was small and bustling. A police presence was not an unusual sight for a hospital, but seeing several members of the Sheriff's Department now made Nick and Greg's concern more palpable.

Nick approached them and produced his ID badge.

"I'm Nick Stokes and this is Greg Sanders. We're with the Las Vegas crime lab. One of your officers called me."

One of the officers stepped forward and held out his hand.

"Mr. Stokes, Mr. Sanders. I'm Sheriff Jacobs. Good to have you here. Ms. Sidle's been asking for the two of you."

"How is she?" Greg asked.

"She's pretty banged up," Jacobs replied. "But she was damn lucky. It was a pretty nasty crash. The doctors reckon she was unconscious for an hour or so. They'll want to keep her in overnight for observation, but she's out of the woods."

"What about Grissom?"

The Sheriff looked grave. "Only trace of him so far is some blood on the driver's side of the car that we think is his. I've had officers out combing the area, but there's no sign. I assume you guys know about this psycho that's been after Ms. Sidle?"

Nick nodded. "Jill Davenport. We've been investigating her back in Vegas. She's already killed at least two people that we know of."

"It definitely looks like another car was involved in the collision," Jacobs informed them. "From the skid marks and the paint transfer on the bumper of Mr. Grissom's rental car, it appears that they were forced off the road."

"So Jill's got Grissom," Greg concluded.

"Sure does look that way," Jacobs confirmed. "We've set up road blocks in the area and I've put a patrol car on _Mrs_. Sidle's house, in case they decide to target her next."

"Can we see Sara?" Nick asked.

"Of course."

The Sheriff led them down a white corridor and opened the door to a private room. Inside, Sara lay on the bed, her face swollen and bruised. An angry red gash ran across her forehead and her hair was stiff with her own blood.

She heard them enter and looked up, her eyes brimming with tears.

"You came."

"Of course we came, Sara," Nick told her, crossing the room to grasp her hand.

"How are you?" Greg asked.

"I need to get out of here," she told them, trying to climb out of bed. "We have to find him."

Nick gently prevented her from getting up, pressing her back into the pillows propped up behind her.

"You need to lay here and rest," he told her. "The doctors want you to stay the night."

Tears poured down her face. "Nicky, she's got him somewhere. She's hurting him. I can't… What if we don't find him in time? What if she's already…?"

She broke down completely, unable to finish the thought. She clung to him and sobbed. As Greg moved closer and began to gently rub her shoulders, Nick allowed his mind to go there. Allowed himself to think the unthinkable.

What if they were already too late?

What if Grissom was already dead?

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who left reviews for Chapter Ten. It really means a lot.

Extra special thanks to **Wobbear **for the beta!

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Eleven**

It took a while to calm Sara down. In the end, the doctor felt it necessary to sedate her. Only when she was asleep could Nick and Greg be persuaded to leave her side.

After leaving the hospital, they attended a meeting at the Sheriff's Department, to bring the local police up to speed on what they knew about Jill Davenport and Graham Price.

It was during that meeting that the car was found.

Several miles south of the crash site, it had been ditched in the parking lot of a closed convenience store. Nick noted that it was a fairly recent model, and most likely a rental. Aside from the mangled front end, it didn't have a scratch on it.

As members of the Highway Patrol processed the car, he and Greg kept a respectful distance, while still taking in as much detail as possible. The driver's seat was pushed a way back, indicating someone at least six feet tall.

The convenience store was out of the way, not on the main road Grissom and Sara had originally been traveling. It was one of the few in the area that wasn't open 24/7. This suggested that it had been pre-selected by the kidnappers. They'd most likely had another car there, ready and waiting.

The origin of a blood pool, discovered in the backseat, had yet to be identified. But Nick didn't need to wait for the DNA results.

He knew it was Grissom's.

It was eight am when a sheriff's deputy dropped them off at a nearby motel to get some rest. All available officers were out looking for Jill and Price. They could do nothing more, for now.

Sitting on one of the room's twin beds, Nick spread the e-mail printouts in front of him like a deck of cards. He believed in his soul that there was something here, some clue that would lead them to Grissom. And he was determined to find it.

Greg came out of the bathroom to find his partner engrossed in work.

"Nick?" There was no reply. "Nicky?"

"What is it, Greg?" Nick asked without looking up.

"You've had maybe three hours' sleep in the last 48. We need to be back at the hospital to pick Sara up in five hours. Maybe you should try to get some rest?"

"There's something here."

Greg nodded. "There probably is. And you're more likely to find it with fresh eyes, after a couple hours' rest."

Greg took the pages gently from his lover's hands and pulled Nick's feet around to remove his boots. Next, he took his hand and led him to the other bed in the room. Pulling back the covers, they both climbed in. Greg drew Nick close, holding him tightly in an attempt to comfort him.

"What if we don't find him in time?" Nick murmured after a long silence.

"We can't think like that. We just have to keep trying," Greg told him. "Besides, if Grissom knew we were here trying to find him, I think he'd be glad. After all, he was the one who trained us."

"The student will replace the teacher, Greg," Nick reminded him of the e-mail that Jill had sent the previous night. "She's telling us that we will find him. She's setting us up to be the ones who find his body."

* * *

Hands clutched around her throat, making her gasp for air that would not come. She tore blindly at her assailant, scratching and punching in an attempt to break free. The dark shape that loomed over her did nothing but tighten its grip. 

Over its shoulder, she could see Grissom struggling against tight bonds, trying to free himself to get to her in time. Sweat poured down his face as he pulled against ropes that would not loosen.

"Sara!" he screamed.

Another shape loomed behind him. She tried to call out, to warn him, but she no longer had a voice. The shape had a knife, and drew it across Grissom's throat in one fluid motion.

His eyes were wide as they locked with hers, his mouth open in astonishment and pain. He couldn't cry out, say her name, or utter any sound, as the blood poured from the wound, spilling his life into a puddle by his feet.

Then he was gone. Slumped, lifeless in the bonds that still held him tightly.

"Grissom!"

* * *

Sara woke with a start, temporarily blinded by the sunlight streaming through the blinds in her hospital room. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her breathing was erratic as she struggled to regain control. 

_It was just a dream_, she told herself over and over again. _It was just a dream_.

Her breathing had almost returned to normal when a nurse entered the room.

"Good news. The doctor's releasing you this afternoon. And your friends called to say that they're on their way to pick you up, so you can get dressed if you're ready."

"Thank you."

Gingerly, she got to her feet, trying her best not to groan or give any indication of the discomfort she felt until the nurse had left the room. Her neck and back were still stiff from the crash and her head throbbed, but she supposed that the full brunt of the pain was being dulled by the painkillers prescribed for her.

Sara regarded her swollen face in the mirror and winced. Some of the bruises were already beginning to turn yellow at the edges. But she had looked a lot worse earlier. After the doctor had examined her that morning, she had been allowed to get up and take a shower, to wash off the dried blood on her hair and face.

However bad she looked and felt, she knew that it was nothing compared to what Grissom was going through. An image of Hank's destroyed face flashed into her mind, followed by a wave of nausea. There was no telling what Jill was doing to Grissom, what she had already done. Jill would kill him without pause, for no other reason than she knew it would destroy Sara.

As she slowly got dressed, she tried to force those images to the back of her mind. It was harder in many ways, knowing what she knew from the hundreds of cases she had worked in her career. She had seen the very worst atrocities carried out by human beings. She could imagine every injury Jill and her partner could inflict upon Grissom, every cut, bruise and broken bone.

Violence was not an abstraction to her anymore. She knew it in intimate detail.

She was lacing her boots when someone knocked on the door.

"Sara?"

"Come in." She finished with her boot and reached for her jacket as Greg entered. He looked tired, she noticed, his youthful energy a little greyer than normal.

"Where's Nick?"

"Right here, Ma'am." He was pushing a wheelchair. "Your chariot awaits."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not getting in that thing."

"Turn about is fair play, Sara. You already got to push me around on one of these things." He positioned the chair at the edge of the bed. "Hop aboard and don't waste your time arguing. We have a meeting at the Sheriff's Department to get to."

She sat down in the chair with a sigh and Nick pushed her out of the room and down the hallway.

"Just be glad Greg isn't driving."

* * *

Grissom awoke to total darkness. It was a few moments before he realized that he had been blindfolded. 

Nothing but eerie silence surrounded him. He could smell dampness, the mustiness of a house that hadn't been in regular use. The air was dusty and damp, making him cough. Pain ripped through one side of his chest, and he was fairly certain that he'd broken at least one rib in the crash.

Panic shook him as he remembered the car accident. He could hear no breathing in the room but his own. Where was Sara?

"Sara?"

Talking was difficult. The injury to his chest was exacerbated by the way he was bound – hands tied above his head and spread wide, crucifixion style, his feet just barely touching the ground.

He took a moment to catch his breath before trying again.

"Sara!"

A door swung open. Swift footsteps crossed the room. He didn't see the fist, but he definitely felt it as it hit the side of his face and snapped his head backwards. Stars flashed behind his closed eyelids.

"Well, look who's awake."

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone for their continued support. It is very much appreciated. And **Domo**, I'm really sorry to do this to you but, um, well, I'm not quite done being mean to Grissom. Yes, I am evil. Sorry.

Many thanks goes, as ever, to my fabulous beta **Wobbear.****

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**Chapter Twelve**

The air stirred and another blow knocked Grissom backwards, making him swing in his restraints. His head spun and pain shot through his body, as each and every injury he had suffered in the car crash made their presence known.

He fought to remain calm. The pain, combined with the restraints, was making it difficult for him to exhale. It would be all too easy for him to asphyxiate in this position.

He forced his mind to think clinically. Scientifically. Panic and shortness of breath could cause arrhythmia, which could in turn lead to cardiac arrest. He'd seen the effect of torture on victims before.

But all the knowledge in the world could not seem to slow his heart-rate down or make him breathe more calmly.

Grissom heard a new set of footstep entering the room. He had attributed the first set to a man, but these new ones seemed lighter and, if Grissom had to guess, he'd say it was probably a woman.

He was right.

"Finally. I'm glad you're awake, Dr. Grissom. I was starting to get bored," Jill said. "Graham?"

Grissom felt someone – Price, he assumed – grab his shirt and rip it open. He struggled, which achieved nothing except another blow to his head.

"Now, now, Dr. Grissom. Don't you want to play?" Jill asked. Her footsteps were muffled by years of dust as she moved closer to him. "Don't you and Sara like to play games?"

"Where is she?"

"She's off chasing rabbits."

Grissom heard her mutter something to her partner as they moved across the room. A chair scraped. Heavy footsteps came back towards him.

"Dr. Grissom? We haven't been properly introduced. My name is Graham. Now, this may hurt. So I want you to feel free to go right ahead and scream if the mood takes you. No one will hear you. And Jill likes a man who makes a lot of noise."

_The hell I will_, thought Grissom stubbornly.

Agony like he'd never known before seared through him as scorching heat was pressed against his exposed chest. He could smell burning flesh as his skin sizzled.

He couldn't stop himself.

He screamed.

* * *

The local police had mobilized fast. The State Police had offered the Sheriff's Department their assistance and two FBI agents had driven in from San Francisco. 

As they gathered around what passed for a conference table in the small police station, Sara couldn't help but think how pissed Grissom would be if he knew that the FBI was working his case.

But Sara decided that, if they helped to find Grissom – quickly and alive – then she would be forever grateful.

The Sheriff brought them up to speed. Grissom and Sara had been heading south along the coast road towards Tamales, from a hotel north of Dillon Beach, when the crash took place. Sara was left unconscious while the kidnappers – presumed to be Jill Davenport and Graham Price – made off with Grissom in their own vehicle.

The kidnappers' car had been found several miles south of the crash site, just west of Point Reyes Station. It was in this vicinity that the search for Grissom was currently taking place. Patrol cars and a helicopter, provided by the State Police, were scouring the area.

"What's in that direction, Sheriff?" Nick asked.

Getting up from the table, Jacobs went to a map on the wall and began pointing to landmarks for the benefit of those not from the area.

"The area is mostly national parkland, a few of small towns, mainly situated along the bay," the Sheriff explained. "It's a lot of ground to cover, and it's complicated by the fact that we don't know what direction they took. They could be holed up in one of the small bays or wooded areas, or they might have headed south, back towards San Francisco."

Investigator McNeal of the State Police spoke up. "If they go south, they'll run into our road blocks. We set them up as soon as you contacted us."

"So, with luck, we have containment. To this area," Jacobs said, pointing out the Point Reyes Parkland on the map. "But like I said, it's a pretty large area to search, a lot of isolated areas and vacation homes where they could be hiding out. So it sure would help to know if our perps have been in the area before, and where."

Greg flipped through his notes. "We did a background search on Jill Davenport already. She owns property in Southern California, but there's nothing this far north under her name."

"What about him? Graham Price?"

"Our colleagues in Vegas are looking into Price now," Nick said.

"Well, we'll be talking to them pretty soon," Jacobs said. "Hopefully they'll have something."

As if on cue, the intercom buzzed.

"Yes, Sheila?"

"We're all set for your conference call with the Las Vegas Crime Lab, Sheriff."

"Thank you, Sheila. Go ahead."

A click, then Catherine's voice came through the speaker.

"Sheriff Jacobs? This is Catherine Willows. My colleague, Warrick Brown is here with me. Any word yet on Grissom?"

"I'm afraid not, Ms. Willows. We're doing all we can. I hope you've been having better luck at your end?"

"We've been investigating several missing persons' cases that may be linked to Graham Price," Catherine said. "He boasted about them to one of his victims – apparently to frighten her into keeping quiet. We've been able to cross-reference some of the dates and names with missing persons' reports here, and we think we've got some matches."

Warrick took up the narrative. "So far we have four possible links to Price. A couple of girls from the university where he taught. A neighbor. And the boyfriend of one of his clients."

"Clients?" One of the FBI agents, Forbes, wanted to know.

"He's a botanist," Catherine said. "He also did some landscaping for a few, select clients. Around the time that Price finished designing a Japanese-style garden for a Jessica Reynolds, her boyfriend, Gavin James, went away to his holiday home to get it ready for their vacation together. He hasn't been seen since."

"Was Price a suspect at the time?" Agent Forbes asked.

"Apparently not. But I just spoke to Ms. Reynolds on the phone, and she said that Price gave her the creeps. Paid too much attention to her, that sort of thing. And Gavin James had warned Price off."

Jacobs frowned as he took notes. "Where was the boyfriend's vacation home? The one he disappeared from?"

Paper rustled at the other end of the line as Warrick looked through the case file. "Inverness, California."

"That's just across the bay from here," Sara said.

Nick frantically started to search through the papers in front of him. "I saw something in one of these e-mails to Price from Jill."

Finding the right page, he smoothed it in front of him and read out loud.

"_Glad to hear that he put up a fight. He must have loved little Jessie a lot. He has earned my respect, and yours, I assume. They're always a lot more fun when they struggle against the inevitable. _

_I hope the Scientist struggles, when we take him. I hope he screams. _

_You take the high road, and I'll take the low road, and we'll tear him apart in Scotland before her._

_Poor little Sara. She's run so far from her pain. I look forward to plunging her right back into it again._

_- J."_

Nick felt Sara stiffen by his side as he read. He wanted to shield her from Jill's words but, at the same time, knew that she would not allow it. She was determined to face down everything that Jill threw at her. Sara would not allow herself to break.

"Scotland? A reference to Inverness?" Agent Forbes suggested.

"Let's find out if this Price guy owns any property in or around the Inverness area," said Investigator McNeal.

As the police made their plans and talked strategy, Sara felt the nausea she had experienced while listening to Jill's e-mail being replaced by something else.

Hope.

The net was tightening. She didn't know why, but she knew that they were going in the right direction. And, for a moment, Sara allowed herself to imagine the possibility of finding Grissom in time.

* * *

Pain was like a light bulb. 

A simple flick of a switch and Grissom was blinded by a white-hot intensity. And then, like a light going out, he was once again left in the throbbing dark, the smell of his sweat and burnt flesh assaulting his senses.

He slumped in his restraints, his body screaming for air. Screaming for relief. Price would let him rest for a moment before beginning again. Grissom had grown used to the pattern by now.

He knew that he couldn't survive much longer. The pain in his chest grew with every moment that passed. Part of him was ready to give himself up to death, to spare himself more suffering. But the rest of him was holding on, still willing to fight. Fight to survive. Fight to live.

Fight to see Sara one more time.

In the darkness of his anguish, he clung to her love.

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Author's Note** - I'm really sorry for the delay with this chapter. It's November, which means I'm battling with NaNoWriMo at the moment and trying to write a 50,000 word novel in a month. Yeah, not going to happen. I'm barely quarter of the way there and there's really only 10 days left. I'm also having some health problems at the moment, which is slowing the writing processes down. But we're almost there. I'm currently writing the final two chapters, and the story will be completed this side of Christmas. Perhaps sooner.

Thanks as always to those who keep reading and review. You guys rock my world. And extra special thanks to **wobbear** for being the best beta a writer could hope for.**

* * *

**

**Chapter Thirteen**

_The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den, _

_For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again: _

_So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly, _

_And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly._

Mary Howitt (The Spider and the Fly, 1834)

---

They dealt in pain. To them, pain was a currency, and it was valuable indeed.

She moved like a shadow through the house - once beautiful, but now marred by neglect. Dust covered the antique furniture, the books in the library, the long oak dinning table. It was no longer a house filled with happiness and life. Now it was her lair. And in her lair, coiled and ready, she waited.

His screams had long since ceased to give her pleasure. He was old news. Used up. Soon he would be dead. She was ready for fresh meat. Fresh pain.

She wanted to hear Sara Sidle scream.

The time was approaching. She knew Sara's mind like she knew her own. She would come. She would figure out where her lover was and come for him. She would enter Jill's web willingly. Sara would offer her life for his.

Jill would take them both.

* * *

Attempting to argue with Sara Sidle, when her mind was made up, was not a task for the faint-hearted. Nick and Greg tried to reason with her, tried to explain that there was no point in following the police to Inverness. They would call if they found anything. She had just been in a car wreck and needed to take it easy. 

It was like arguing with a brick wall.

Nick saw the turn off for Point Reyes and took it, barely noticing the beautiful scenery that lay all around.

"Just a few more miles," he announced, checking on Sara in the rear view mirror. She had been staring out of the window during the entire drive, a glazed expression on her face. Nick was afraid of what might happen to her if they didn't find Grissom in time. He feared she would break.

* * *

They had still heard nothing from the police by the time the pulled up in the main street of Inverness. It had small town charm, the focal point of the downtown area being a general store that sold everything. There were a number of gift shops, catering to tourists, and a couple of restaurants and coffee shops that claimed to specialize in 'home cooking'. It was simple and quaint. And a far cry from Las Vegas. 

Nick parked in front of Priscilla's. The sign in front of the café promised delicious specials of the day, fresh ingredients, organic coffee and tea.

"How about we get something to eat while we wait?" he suggested, looking specifically at Sara. He had no idea when she had last eaten.

"Sounds good. I'm starved," Greg said.

"What else is new?"

Sara simply shrugged. Nick figured that was as close to a 'yes' as he was going to get from her, and got out of the car.

They were about to enter the café when something caught Greg's eye.

"I'll be right back. Go on in and get us a table."

He hurried off and Nick and Sara went inside. They were greeted by a friendly waitress who showed them to a secluded booth at the far end, where they ordered coffee.

They sat in awkward silent while they waited for Greg's return. Nick couldn't think of anything to say to her - every comforting sentiment dying on his lips. There was nothing to say, nothing that would comfort. He knew what Grissom meant to her.

He also knew what Grissom meant to him. He was a mentor, a father, a friend. Jill's cruel email played through his head yet again. Its mocking words echoed in his mind and he began to doubt himself again.

_What if they didn't find Grissom in time?_

Sara finally spoke and broke the spell.

"I really appreciate it. What you and Greg have done for me. For Grissom," she said. "He'd appreciate it too."

A response caught in his throat. Tears threatened, so he said nothing, just nodded and took her hand.

The bell over the door jangled and Greg approached their table and sat down.

"What have you been up to?"

"I had a brainwave. There's a realtor down the street who also handles a lot of the rental accommodation in the area. I showed them Jill and Price's mug shots, asked if they'd seen them around or maybe rented them a property lately."

"And…?"

"And, no one recognized them. _But_, they do have online registration - people can book accommodation with a credit card. If they do that, they don't have to deal with anyone in person. So I managed to talk them into checking the list of properties rented that way for the past month or so."

"They actually gave you that information? Without a warrant?" Sara asked incredulously. "How?"

"I have my ways," he replied with a smirk.

Nick rolled his eyes. "What he means is, the realtor was female and he flirted with her."

"No one can resist the Sanders charm," he replied with a wink.

"So where's the list?"

"On their computers. _Please_, I know I'm charming, but no one's stupid enough to break the law just for one of my smiles. But she did look at the list for me, and neither of our perps was on it."

"That means nothing," Sara said. "They could be using a stolen credit card."

"Precisely. Which is why I called the Sheriff on my way back here. He's getting a warrant, so they can check the names against a list of stolen credit cards. And Cindy has all the information ready and waiting for him."

"Cindy?" Nick asked, one of his an eyebrow raised. Anything else he might have wanted to say was cut off by his cell phone ringing.

He and the Sheriff shared a brief conversation. The expression on his face made it clear that the news was not good. He hung up, looking tense.

"The FBI just got back to the Sheriff. Price doesn't own property in this area. Neither do his family members or any friends, as far as we can tell. So we're back to square one, for now."

Sara looked dejected. She was so sure that they had been close to finding something. "So what are they doing now?"

"They're following up on the lead Greg gave them, and they're canvassing the area. There are a lot of privately-owned homes that are rented out to tourists - they could be using one of those."

"This is ridiculous." Sara slammed her fist on the table. "We can't just sit around, drinking coffee, while the police canvas the whole damn town! By the time they do that, Grissom will be dead!"

Greg reached out and put a comforting hand on her arm. "We don't know that Sara."

"I know it, Greg. And I can't sit here and do nothing."

Nick rubbed his face, trying to think. "I don't know what else we can do. We could start asking around ourselves, but we don't have jurisdiction. And it's going to take time."

"We don't have time."

Silence descended as each of them tried to think of a solution. They were backed into a corner, the evidence leading them no where. And all the while, in the back of their minds, they wondered if time had already run out.

Sara forced herself to concentrate, removing Grissom from the equation. She had to look at the evidence objectively, with no emotion. The way that Grissom had taught her. Emotions clouded her judgment, made her mind panic rather that reason the problem out. The evidence was there before them. She just needed to interpret it correctly. To allow it to speak.

Neither suspect owned property in the area. But they were both familiar with the region. Price had already committed at least one crime here. It was a remote area. Perfect for holding a person against their will. Perfect for disposing of a body without being seen. He had chosen the area for a reason. Perhaps it was because it was close to where Sara had grown up. But maybe it was a matter of convenience.

"The house. The one the missing boyfriend owned?"

"Gavin James?"

"Yeah. Was it ever sold?"

Nick frowned. "I'm not sure."

"One way to find out," Greg said, flipping open his cell phone and hitting a speed dial button. "Catherine? It's Greg. Gavin James's house, here in Inverness. Did the family ever sell it? … No, huh. What's the address?"

He motioned to Nick to hand him a pen and a piece of paper, and scribbled down the information Catherine gave him. Hanging up, he smiled.

"It's a private house in Silver Hills, on the outskirts of town. The family hasn't sold it, and nobody's been there since Gavin went missing."

Sara sat up straighter in her seat. "That's where he is."

"Sara, we don't know for–"

"He's there, Nick. Let's go."

Without waiting for either of them, Sara bolted from her chair and headed out of the café.

* * *

They pulled off to the side of the private road, outside the closed gates of the impressive property. The house could only be glimpsed at the far end of the driveway, secluded amongst the numerous oak and fir trees in the grounds. The gates were locked and from where they were, no vehicle was visible. 

"This is stupid," Nick said. "We should call the Sheriff and let the local police handle this."

"We don't know that there's anything to handle," Sara replied. "We don't want to distract them from the main search until there's a reason."

"She does have a point," Greg added. "If we could see into the grounds properly, see if there's a car or a light on or something…"

"How are we going to do that, Greg? The place is surrounded by trees."

The interior light flickered on as Sara opened her door. She was sliding out of the car when Nick reached around and grabbed her arm.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm just taking a quick peek," she told him. "There's a lower part of the wall over there. I might be able to get a clearer view of the house."

She shook his arm away, and took off across the road before he could respond.

"Damn it." Unfastening his seat belt, he was about to follow her when something caught his eye. He thought for a moment that he might be imagining things, until he saw it again.

A light. Maybe a flashlight or a candle? He saw it glow briefly through the only window visible from the road. There was someone in the house.

"Greg, call the Sheriff and give him this address. They're here," he said. "I'm going after Sara."

* * *

Sara reached the low wall and peered through the thick trees. From her vantage point, she could see the front of the house. It was a striking building made of wood and stone, a place that, at one time, might have filled Sara with awe. 

Now, it filled her with dread.

Something caught Sara's eye. A light, moving past one of the upper story windows, in a house supposedly abandoned for years.

They were here.

Mindful of her injuries, she swung herself up onto the wall and into the property. The lawn at the front of the house was wide and open, with no prospect of a stealthy approach. Instead, she kept to the shadows of the trees, making her way towards the back of the house.

Round the back, nestled amid yet more trees, was a three-car garage, with what looked to be a guest house above it. She crouched in the undergrowth and waited, holding her breath as she watched the property for any sign of where they might be.

It was then she heard it. A scream of pain. It was faint, but she was certain that she had heard it coming from the guest house.

Grissom.

Without thinking, she darted out from the trees, running for the garage. She didn't see the figure watching her from the kitchen door. Didn't hear the slide of the gun being pulled back. She didn't stop running until she heard the unmistakable voice behind her.

"Not another step."

She turned to see Jill, grinning, pointing a gun in her face.

"Welcome to my parlor, Sara."

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Author's Note: **It's been a long, cruel journey. I've been mean. I've followed cliff-hanger with cliff-hanger. Well, I'm not saying this chapter will be any different, but we're now nearly at the end. The final chapter is currently with my fabulous beta, **wobbear**. So at least you won't have long to wait in between chapters.

Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. And extra special thanks to **wobbear** for her guidance and beta skills, and to **theatresporter **for her support and opinions. Much love.

**

* * *

Chapter Fourteen **

Greg ended the call on his cell phone and got out of the car. Nick was no longer in sight, but Greg followed the path he had taken across the road, leaping over the wall and into the woods that surrounded the house.

He paused and listened. The woods curved around on both sides, with a wide open lawn stretching between them and the house. Sticking to the cover of the trees, he followed them around the property to the left, remaining as quiet as possible and keeping a sharp eye out for his friends or, more importantly, any enemies lurking.

When Greg had called, the Sheriff had explained that he was on the other side of town, but there were units nearby that would be sent straight to the Silver Hills address. Sheriff Jacobs instructed them to wait for backup and under no circumstances to approach the house.

"Too late," Greg had replied. "Sara already went ahead and Nick's gone after her."

"Remain at the perimeter," the Sheriff insisted.

"Sorry. No can do," Greg replied before hanging up. He would not sit on the sidelines and do nothing. Not with Nick and Sara inside.

* * *

Moving swiftly through the trees, Nick soon found himself behind what he guessed was the garage. Looking up, he noted that the space above it seemed to have been renovated into a guest apartment of sorts. The shutters of its windows were closed, but through a crack in them, he saw a faint glow. 

The lights were on. Someone was home.

The trees provided cover right up to the side of the building. Keeping it between himself and the main house, he stepped softly, not wanting to draw attention to himself just yet.

Behind him, he heard a twig snap. He spun around to find a gun pointed straight at him. The man holding it seemed amused.

"Are you meant to be the Cavalry?" Graham Price asked.

* * *

"Where is he, Jill?" Sara demanded. 

The gun was pointed between her eyes but she didn't care anymore. Her fear was being overridden by something stronger - fury. She was done. She wasn't going to play by Jill's rules anymore. It was time to make some of her own.

"Behind you. Up the stairs," Jill told her, smirking at Sara's defiance. "We've been taking _really_ good care of him."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

Jill laughed. "If you hurry, you might be in time to get one last kiss goodbye. He's at - what's the phrase? Death's door?"

Sara's eyes darted to one side, sizing up the distance between them and the garage. It was at least thirty yards. Too far, much too far, when a gun was being pointed at her.

But then again…

Sara turned and began to walk towards the door Jill had indicated.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Inside," Sara told her. "Isn't that what you want? You think you're going to break me? Send me inside to find Grissom… what? Tortured? Dead? And then you'll do the same to me? That's your plan, isn't it?"

"Dear Sara. You always did know me so well. But we're doing this to my schedule. Stop right _there_."

"No." Sara was now just yards from her destination, with Jill and the gun following every step of the way.

"Don't be an idiot, Sara! I'll shoot you."

"Go ahead," Sara told her. "You shoot me, you lose. How can you have your fun with me if I'm already dead?"

She opened the door and went inside without a backwards glance.

* * *

Price was all bravado as he sized up Nick. "You armed?" he asked, looking for the tell-tale bulge of a weapon. 

Nick struggled to keep his hands from shaking. Terror ran through him, chilling his blood and making his eyes swim. He fought to keep a clear mind, to stay calm. He had to somehow get himself out of this situation. Sara and Grissom were counting on him.

"I have a pistol," he said a voice that did not sound like his own.

Slowly, he lifted up his arms to reveal the holstered gun under his jacket. Keeping his own weapon trained on Nick, Price moved forward and removed the gun, sliding it into the waistband at the back of his jeans.

"Now, you're going to turn around and follow the building round to the front. Then me and my girl are going to have a little party with you."

As Nick turned, out of the corner of his eye he caught movement in the trees. He did his best not to show any reaction on his face, so as not to give Price any warning of what he'd seen. He just hoped that he'd not been imagining things.

Seconds later, he got his confirmation.

Price froze when he felt the cold steel of a gun pressed against the back of his neck.

"Take your finger off the trigger," Greg told him. "Slowly slide the safety back on and drop it on the ground." Price hesitated, so Greg emphasized his point by pressing the gun a little harder. "Now."

There was a soft thud as the gun dropped onto the ground, cushioned by leaves and moss. Keeping the gun on Price, Greg retrieved Nick's weapon and handed it to him.

"Good timing," Nick remarked under his breath, stooping to pick up Price's weapon.

"I'm known for it," Greg replied with a soft smirk. Underneath his boyish confidence, in a place that only Nick could see, he was scared stiff. But at the same time he could not help but be pleased with himself for getting the jump on the 'bad guy'.

"Keep an eye on him and wait for the police," Nick told his partner. "I'm going to find Sara."

* * *

The stairs were coated in a thin veneer of dust, through which Sara could make out drag marks, in addition to two different sets of footprints. Price was somewhere around, perhaps upstairs with Grissom. 

Her fury towards Jill was quickly being replaced by fear at what she was about to face upstairs. The thought of seeing Grissom's condition, perhaps finding him already dead, was overwhelming. If that happened, she knew that nothing would prevent her from falling apart - something that Jill was counting on.

Sara felt reckless and a little crazy, half tempted to turn and push Jill down the stairs. She knew she was heading for trouble, yet could not seem to stop herself continuing along this path.

In truth, whatever plan she had in her mind had gone out the window the moment she heard Grissom scream, forcing her to break cover and try to run to him.

Her recklessness might save him. Or it might get them both killed.

They reached the top of the stairs and Sara found herself facing a solid, wooden door. Its closed state was ominous. She dreaded opening it. She dreaded seeing what was on the other side.

"Alright, smart girl," Jill said behind her. "You were the one that wanted to rush proceedings. So go ahead. Open the door."

Sara took a deep breath and reached for the handle. She only had one shot, and it had to be before they entered the room. If Price was in there, she was probably dead.

Swinging her elbow back, she caught Jill full in the face and heard a gasp and the satisfying crunch of cartilage. Immediately, Sara twisted around, grabbing the gun with one hand and pushing it away from her. With all her strength she pushed Jill back against the wall behind them, pinning her with one arm tight across her throat.

"Let go of the gun," she said, applying pressure to Jill's wrist the way she had been taught in her weaponless defense training. Enough pressure and the perp had no choice but to drop their weapon.

"You fucking bitch," Jill spat. "You broke my fucking nose!"

"That won't be all I break if you don't drop the goddamned gun," Sara told her.

She slammed Jill's hand against the concrete wall, making her cry out in pain. The gun finally slipped from her grasp and Sara secured her hold on it with her left hand. Not ideal, certainly, but workable.

Sara marveled at her luck that Price, if he was in fact on the other side of the door, had not heard the struggle.

"Where's your partner?" Sara asked.

Jill's eyes danced with fury and she defiantly refused to answer. Pointing the gun at Jill, Sara slowly released her chokehold, backing away. Jill slumped, gasping from the need for air and the pain radiating from her broken nose. Sara took the opportunity to switch the gun over to her right hand.

"Let's go look for him," she said, pointing with the gun for Jill to go first this time.

The door had just creaked open when Jill spun around like a wild cat. Sara had no time to pull the trigger before Jill was on her, scratching and clawing at her face. Somehow, Sara pushed her off, pushed Jill far enough back to be able to pull her fist back, sending it careering into the irate woman's already bloody face.

Jill fell back, apparently out cold. Quickly gathering her wits, Sara scanned the room for Price. He was no where in sight.

The shutters were closed, but a bare light bulb hung from the ceiling, cutting through the gloom. It had been a nice place once, Sara could tell. But the warm wood of the furniture and the floor were now marred by time and neglect. It was no longer a happy holiday home. It was something much more sinister.

As she moved further into the room, the sight before her made Sara's blood run cold.

Her view of him had been blocked by a pillar when she first looked into the room, but now she saw him clearly. Horribly battered and bruised. Hanging, suspended by his wrists from a beam in the ceiling, a horrific version of a crucifixion. His eyes were blindfolded, one part of the cruel game they had played with him. Areas of his chest were scorched, almost charred in places, angry blisters protesting against the heat his skin had endured.

"Grissom?" she said cautiously, almost whispering, as though afraid she would wake him. "Grissom? Baby? It's me. It's Sara. I'm here now."

He did not move. His face was drained of all color. His body was limp, unmoving.

He didn't even appear to be breathing.

"Oh god! Oh god, please no."

_He couldn't be. Not now. Not after everything they had been through._

Sara could taste bile. She felt angry, hot tears on her face that almost blinded her, making the horrible sight before her blur.

She refused to accept it. Hurriedly moving forward towards him, she resolved to untie him, hold him, nurse him through whatever recuperation period was necessary. He would be fine. He had to be fine.

She heard movement behind her, but kept moving down the room towards him. Kept her focus on him.

She didn't see Jill reach for a second gun, concealed beneath her pant leg.

She didn't hear the shot being fired. She felt the pain slice through her side and then she was on her knees, looking up at his broken face.

Then the world went black.

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Author's Note:** The torture is over. No, really, it is. Even I can only handle so many cliffhangers.

Thank you, so much, to everyone that has read and supported this story. I'm sorry for putting you all through hell (Not really. I enjoyed every minute)

Much love and cookies to **wobbear**, the best beta a girl could ask for. And thanks to **theatresporter**, for being the prettiest sounding-board ever.

The Epilogue to this story will be posted tomorrow.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Fifteen**

Nick heard the shot and sprinted up the last steps to the apartment over the garage. His pistol felt heavy in his hand as he rounded the corner at the top of the stairs.

Jill stood, her back to him, her pistol trained on Sara's sprawled, bleeding form.

"Drop your weapon!"

She ignored him, pulling the slide back, preparing to fire again.

He had never discharged his weapon in the line of duty, but he didn't hesitate, firing two rounds into the gunwoman. Even as she hit the ground, he was running past her, kicking her gun away from her almost as an afterthought in his race to get to Sara.

It was only as he was applying pressure to her side to try and stem the bleeding that he saw Grissom.

His horror doubled.

Outside, he could hear police cars racing to a stop. Slammed doors and voices. Footsteps on the stairs below.

"Someone call an ambulance!" he screamed. "We need some help in here!"

* * *

Sara awoke in a white, sterile environment. For a moment she panicked, unsure of where she was or what had happened. 

When she remembered, the realization made her heart sink with dread.

She closed her eyes and prayed - something she had never done, not even as a little girl. She prayed that it had all been a bad dream, some terrible mistake or nightmarish hallucination.

She opened her eyes to the awful truth. It had not been a dream. She was in a hospital bed, and Nick Stokes was sitting beside her, looking grim. When he saw that her eyes were open, his features softened into a smile.

"Hey. Look who's awake."

She started to sit up and winced as pain ripped through her side. Waiting for it to subside, she settled herself into a more comfortable position and cleared her throat.

"Nick. How long?"

"A couple of hours. The doctor said you hit your head when you fell, so you might have a concussion. But the bullet just grazed your side. You were lucky. Really lucky." To emphasize the point, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "What were you thinking? Running off alone?"

Tears threatened and Sara shut her eyes, trying to staunch their flow. She had been thinking of Grissom. Only of him.

"Where is he?"

Nick hesitated.

"Nick, please! I need to see him."

The waiting was unbearable. A few more hours passed, during which Nick negotiated with the nursing staff on Sara's behalf and then waited by her bedside, holding her hand. Greg had a death grip on the other and in any other circumstances, Sara would have found the whole thing incredibly funny. They seemed like a cross between a prayer circle and a pair of prison guards, there to ensure she would not run off again.

When the doctors eventually gave the go-ahead for Sara to see Grissom, they imposed the condition that she be wheeled to her destination in a chair. She didn't have any fight left in her to argue.

As Nick pushed her slowly down the hallway, the walls seemed to close in, as if the entire world was pressing in at her on all sides. When they came to a stop outside that room, a cold thrill of fear ran through her, making her skin prickle. She did not want to go through that door and yet, part of her wanted nothing more.

Nick wheeled her inside, bringing her to a rest beside the bed, close to Grissom's unmoving body. "I'll be right outside, Sara," he said. "If you need me."

Sara barely heard him leave, her eyes now fixed unwaveringly on Grissom.

His face was white, his various wounds and bruises were garish splashes of color on his otherwise colorless skin.

He had suffered. Oh, he had suffered. One eye was swollen and purple; his lips were bloody and bloated. And yet this only hinted at the true damage, which was now hidden by the white sheet that covered him. But she had already seen the wounds, seen the burns - they were etched for ever into her memory and her heart ached because of them.

Tears slid down Sara's face as she reached out to him, touching his face gently. She took his hand and held it to her lips caressing it gently.

"Griss, I'm so sorry," she wept. "What have they done to you? I'm so sorry."

She felt the tiniest hint of pressure as he squeezed her hand. His eyes flickered and he eventually opened them with some difficulty and met hers.

"Hey," he said, his voice hoarse. "Honey, are you okay?"

Despite herself, she laughed through her tears. "You want to know if _I'm _okay? We thought we lost you for a while there. When I saw you in that place, I thought… I thought…"

Her head sunk onto the bed beside him as her tears came harder now. When she had seen his limp, broken body in that house of horrors, she had thought that he was dead. She had felt his loss, deep inside of her, and in that moment part of her had died too.

She felt his hand gently cradling her head as she wept.

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere," he told her softly. "It's over."

She nodded through her tears, finally allowing herself to believe it.

_It was over_.

"I love you," Grissom said, his eyes shining with tears of his own.

Sara smiled, leaning forward to gently brush her lips against his. "I love you too."

* * *

Miraculously, Grissom had suffered comparatively little internal damage, his three cracked ribs somehow not being complicated by internal bleeding. His burns were all first and second degree - both serious and painful, but luckily not infected. 

He spent the first 36 hours on a saline drip, replacing the fluids his body had lost due to dehydration and the burns. The moment the IV needle was out, he was ready to discharge himself and, were it not for Sara's influence, he most likely would have. She spent every moment by his side, eventually convincing the nursing staff to wheel her bed into his room so they would not have to sleep apart.

On the second day, Nick and Greg arrived with good news. Graham Price had been arraigned in court, and had pleaded guilty to charges of attempted murder and kidnapping. While the local authorities, and their own colleagues in Vegas were still investigating him for several counts of murder, it was a relief to know that he was now behind bars, and would remain there for many years to come.

Pain relief and Sara's constant care had a positive effect and after just four days in hospital, Grissom's doctor spoke of release. He faced a long recuperation period, his ribs and burns would take time to heal, but he was on the road to recovery. Physically, at least.

Several times each night, Sara awoke to find him muttering in his sleep, occasionally crying out, obviously in the midst of a nightmare. It was to be expected, after his ordeal, and Sara knew they both faced the prospect of post traumatic stress disorder after everything they had been through. Counseling crossed her mind more than once and she suggested to Grissom that they both consider it once they returned to Vegas. Grissom agreed to think about it.

The day before Grissom was discharged, Sara left the hospital for the first time, journeying north. She still had unfinished business.

Sara's mother hugged her carefully in the doorway, mindful of her injuries. Sara had called ahead and given her an idea of what had been happening, only to be berated for not calling sooner.

"I should have been there for you in the hospital!" Laura had said, sounding more guilty than angry.

It would be something Sara would have to get used to - having a mother back in her life, keeping her informed. But she found herself willing to make that adjustment - eager to do it, in fact.

They sat in the kitchen, sipping herbal tea and discussing the events of the past week. Sara shared everything, every emotion she had experienced, finally talking to Laura the way she imagined a daughter should.

"On some level, I can't seem to take it in, that it's over," she said. "Price is behind bars, 25 to life. And Jill is dead."

The word came out and there was barely any emotion attached to it. Jill was dead. It was a relief, and yet Sara was confused that she didn't feel more guilt or triumph because of it.

As though reading her mind, Laura studied her daughter's face intently. "How do you feel about that? Jill being dead?"

"I don't know how I feel," Sara admitted. "Part of me wishes I had been the one to have pulled the trigger. Nick never should have had to…"

Sara's voice caught for a moment, guilt at putting Nick in that position catching up with her, choking her with unshed tears.

"Are the authorities taking any action?" Laura asked. "About the shooting?"

"There will be an inquiry. I guess I'll have to testify at it. But the Sheriff is satisfied that it was justifiable homicide. Nick saved my life. And Grissom's."

Sara paused for a moment to sip her tea and struggle with all the conflicting emotions she was experiencing.

"I guess I know how you felt, now," Sara said. "I wanted her dead. I wanted to kill her. For hurting someone I love. To protect him."

Laura nodded and her eyes glistened with tears. Sara reached out and took her hand, holding it tightly. Blinking back the tears, she fought for composure, clearing her throat before continuing to speak.

"They're discharging Grissom in the morning, and then I'm taking him home," Sara said.

"I'm glad he's getting better," her mother replied. "And you? How are you doing?"

"I'm going to be okay."

They walked arm in arm to the door and hugged a goodbye. In the back of her mind, Sara realized that, despite the many traumatic distractions, she had accomplished what she had originally come to California to do. She had lain to rest the ghosts of her childhood. Now she and her mother had a chance at a happier future in each other's lives.

"Mom, why don't you come and visit me in Vegas sometime?" Sara asked. "Sometime soon?"

"I'd really like that." Laura Sidle smiled at her daughter. "And you and Grissom are welcome here any time."

She paused, frowning a little in thought. "You know, Sara, isn't a little odd you calling the man you love by his last name?"

Sara shrugged. "It's who he is. It's what I've always called him. It's comfortable."

"What's his first name?"

"Gil," Sara smiled. "His name is Gil."

* * *

Grissom grumbled about the wheelchair, but when Sara leaned in close and kissed his neck, he quit complaining. As they left through the front doors of the hospital, Grissom sighed with relief. 

"Glad to be free?" Sara asked, amused.

"Yes," he said. "I hate hospitals."

"Poor baby. Does that mean you object to having a nurse?"

He looked up at her and saw her suggestively raised eyebrow.

"Honey, if you're the nurse in question, I could die a happy man."

"Don't you dare," she growled. "I plan on getting you well. We have many years ahead of us, Gil Grissom."

He smiled. "Let's go home."


	17. Epilogue

**Author's Note:** Wow. I can't believe I've finally reached the end, not just of this story, but of the whole series. When I started writing Cold Vengeance almost two years ago, I never could have dreamed that it would take me here. I certainly never planned there to be five stories in this series back in the beginning. But it's been a fun (and traumatic, scary, emotional, angsty, et al) journey, and I'm a little sad it's over.

Thank you so much to everyone for reading this story, and the stories that went before. Your reviews kept me going through numerous bouts of writer's block. You have no idea how much I appreciate you all, and if I could I'd bake cookies for each and every one of you.

As for **wobbear**, she deserves more than cookies. Diamonds, perhaps? Best. Beta. Ever. Thank you so much for all the work you put in to make this story better.

**

* * *

****Epilogue**

_Love comforteth like sunshine after rain._

William Shakespeare (_Venus and Adonis, _1593)

---

It was a beautiful spring day as they stood in a simple garden with their friends. Chairs were set out in rows, facing the small trellis which had been brought in for the occasion. Decorations were few and unpretentious, just like the couple in whose honor everyone had gathered.

The Reverend Julia Martin, a minister from the Eternal Hope Ministry, stood before them, speaking with feeling on the virtues of love and togetherness.

"The world can be bleak and full of despair," she told the small congregation of family and friends. "No one knows that more than those men and women who devote their lives to solving crimes and attempting to bring justice to our society. These people, perhaps more than any other, deserve to find love and companionship. To find someone to walk through life with. Which is why today is so special, as we gather with this wonderful couple as they declare their love and commitment for one another."

At her words, Grissom found himself reaching for Sara's hand. She squeezed his in return and, without having to look, he could sense her smile.

It was now almost a year since they had returned to Vegas and begun to put their lives back together. She had been a constant at his side, nursing him back to full strength, both physically and mentally.

After much coaxing from Grissom, Sara had returned to work in the crime lab three months after handing in her leave of absence. Given all that had happened, Ecklie had welcomed her back with very little fuss and, to her great surprise, had yet to cause her any trouble.

When he had felt up to it, Grissom had continued to work on his book, which was now about to go into print. Rather than returning to work at the lab, he had accepted an offer to head the Forensic Science Department at UNLV. Being surrounded by fresh minds, eager to become criminalists, had given Grissom a new lease of life. He was more relaxed than he had been in years, and was already planning his next book.

Catherine and Warrick had worked in conjunction with the Californian authorities, uncovering enough evidence to have Graham Price charged with three counts of murder in addition to the kidnapping and attempted murder charges. Three sets of human remains had been found at the Silver Hills property and eventually identified as Gavin James, Veronica McKenna - who had been Price's neighbor at one time - and Sally Clark, a student from UNLV. There was enough forensic evidence to prove that Price had been the killer. In order to avoid the death penalty, Price had pleaded guilty across the board, and was now serving a life sentence, without possibility of parole.

Sara had returned to California with Nick and Greg to testify in the Coroner's Inquest into the death of Jill Davenport. The evidence spoke for itself, and Nick's actions were found to be justifiable.

It was after they left the courthouse, jubilant at the outcome, that Greg had proposed.

Now, in their own garden, both grooms beamed as they stood side by side in front of the minister. They had written their own vows and recited them with feeling, before each placed a ring on the other's finger.

The reception was perfect in its simplicity, held in their home. Members of the lab mingled with Nick and Greg's families, nibbling on finger food and telling stories of the boys' exploits.

Sara found herself being dragged across the room by Greg, first to meet his own parents, and then to meet Nick's. She caught Grissom's eye and they exchanged smirks at the young man's exuberance. He wore his happiness well.

It was a good day, with very little drama and a lot of joy. Sara didn't think it could possibly get any better.

She was chatting to Brass and Doc Robbins when Grissom was suddenly at her elbow, steering her away from the main crowd and out into the hallway.

"I was going to do this tonight, after the party but…" Grissom broke off, suddenly nervous. He cleared his throat and reached into his pocket. "But I just can't wait any longer."

He drew out a small box covered in sumptuous midnight blue velvet. Awkwardly, he fumbled with it, his hands shaking slightly.

"Sara, I spent most of my life content to walk through life alone. I thought my work was enough. And it was - until I allowed myself to love you. Now I can think of no other way I want to spend eternity than by your side. In your arms. In your heart."

He opened the box. Sara's eyes were wide as they fell on the flawless princess-cut diamond, winking up at her from its solid platinum band.

"Marry me?"

Sara found herself unable to speak. All she could do was nod and let him slip the beautiful ring onto her eager finger. When he finished, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close and kissing him deeply.

Sara felt that she had been given everything she had ever wanted and more. In her arms was the only person she had ever truly loved, who loved her with all of his heart. It had been a long, sometimes difficult journey, but now Sara felt that she had finally come home.

Their private celebration was disturbed by someone clearing his throat. Looking towards the doorway, they saw Nick, arms crossed, a broad grin on his face. The impressive rock on Sara's finger had not escaped his attention.

"So, I guess my wedding party is about to become an engagement party?" he asked good-naturedly. Before they could stop him, he had hurried back into the living room and called for silence.

"Grissom and Sara have an announcement to make."

Grissom turned to Sara and sighed, holding out his hand. "Shall we?"

Smiling, she nodded and took his hand.

They walked hand in hand to give their friends the good news, joyfully embarking on this new chapter in their lives. They didn't know what the future held in store for them. But they were sure of one thing. Whatever happened, they would see it through. Together.

**THE END.**


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